Mass Effect 3, Part II: The Lord of Storms
by Jack of the Blades
Summary: Sequel to Mass Effect 3: The Prince of Shadows. Post Arrival. Out of Dark Space, the Reapers will come. John Shepard must unite the galaxy to face the coming juggernaut, but he has demons of his own to contend with. Demons from Virmire, and Akuze.
1. Prologue

**A/N: A thousand welcomes from Jack of Blades to my old readers, and a thousand more to my new ones. I hope you enjoyed Part I of my story, Mass Effect 3: The Prince of Shadows. If you haven't read it, please, read and review. As always, my Shepard is a male. Paragon/Sole Survivor.**

**Without further ado, I give you Part II! Enjoy!**

**Hades Gamma Cluster, Planet Akuze, 1832 hours, Zeta time, Nine years ago**

Nightfall came quickly on Akuze during the winter months. And since the barren planet's orbit was elliptical, winter lasted ten months out of the year. Even so, the intense heat of Hades Gamma ensured a sweltering day, the planet's sparsely populated grasslands scorched under the oppressive light. Windspeeds could approach eighty miles an hour.

Small forms of insect and mammillian life led a desperate existence beneath the dry surface. At dawn each day they would emerge from their deep warrens to forage and scavenge and kill what they could before retreating just prior to noon, when temperatures reached near-boiling. Then the struggle to subsist continued again for a time until darkness fell.

As the planet's rotation came out of view of the sun, what little water that was present in the thin atmosphere condensed rapidly, forming a meager layer of ice across the cracked and weathered topsoil. Temperatures dropped quickly after that, as the surface approached glacial standards. If enough moisture existed in the atmosphere blizzards would have occurred. Any living thing caught more than four feet belowground was frozen alive.

At dawn, the ice would melt and provide precious water to the surviving plants and creatures, and the dead would be recycled back into the earth. It was a simple enough process, derived from countless millennia of repitition. It was life at its meanest essentials.

That was the situation for Akuze's natural inhabitants. For any mammal with a body mass over four kilograms, the surface was lethal save from sunrise to noon. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about this desert world, save for its rich deposits of cobalt, titanium, and element zero three miles below the surface.

That was what had attracted the mining corporation. Following the First Contact War only two decades prior, humanity had quickly set out to make a place for itself in galactic society, grabbing up the saddest, most desolate chuncks of space rock they could find not protected by Council law for mining exploits. Cobalt and titanium were rare enough, and were essential components in many Systems Alliance warships, but eezo was something altogether more valuable. The element, long since thought nonexistent by scientific circles, fueled the Faster-Than-Light drives that enabled sentient species to reach out and touch the stars.

And so Outpost 2401 was born.

Progress had been been slow, however. The rapid contraction and expansion of the planetary crust made large-scale drilling operations maddeningly difficult, and nuclear charges to level entire landmasses had been prohibited by Council rule some two hundred years prior. The profit gained from the insanely rare eezo was barely enough to ensure the operation's continuation, but not enough to prove truly profitable.

Costs of maintaining the geothermal worker housing facility and for production of extreme-condition hazard suits for the employees were elevated, leaving the board of directors little choice. Fears were abound that the turians would certainly swoop in and claim the human find should the company back out now, which led the corporation in question to agree to the covert deployment of small-scale nuclear mining caps to streamline the extraction process. This decision was backed by a generous donation from a private human-interests group determined to see the endeavour succeed. That group was Cerberus.

The mines had been smuggled in-system without the Council's knowledge. Within a week, the first test charges had been prepared across a particularly barren stretch of wasteland in the northern hemisphere. The firing tests were a success, and the first report sent back to the company via FTL comm buoy was positive. The eezo was flowing.

Two hours later, the facility went dark. That was the last communication the Saturn-based corporation received from Outpost 2401.

Weeks later, an Alliance investigation initiative was mounted. A company of Alliance Marines was shuttled in-system by a passing carrier. The mining site was discovered easily. A massive crater, ten miles in diameter, with the earth five miles further in every direction terraformed by the blast's shockwave. And there was the installation, home to some ninety-four mining personnel.

The troops landed in specialized environmental combat suits, heating and cooling coils primed to maintain equilibrium and breath masks fastened to combat the thin air. Under the direction of a Marine major, they set out to investigate.

The facility was intact. Automated systems ensured that the station remained fully operational, save for a critical failure to life support logged some five hundred hours ago. The cots were deserted, the belongings of the crew left unspoiled. All was as it should have been, save for a single ground personnel transport missing from the unit garage.

With more questions left unanswered than not, the squad leaders were divvied up and assigned to patrol the crater perimeter, searching for a clue as to what had transpired. To avoid any risk of working during the lethal temperatures of midday, the first search was dispatched in the late afternoon. The skies had just begun to darken over Akuze. As twilight fell, fifty Marines set out into the howling dark.

This is the only record of that night.

Lieutenant Junior Grade John Shepard took point. Hustling from ridgeline to ridgeline, he left his squad panting to keep pace.

The lieutenant cut an impressive figure pounding across the dark surface. The abundant starlight shone impressively on his Onyx I body armor. His visor glinted as it appraised the lay of the land ahead, battle rifle in-hand.

Checking to ensure the uplink from his palm's omni-tool was synced with his HUD, Shepard quietly admired the new tech that he had been granted. Real time comm uplink with other squad leaders. Nice. Heating and cooling systems designed to allow for full performance in temperatures ranging from negative twenty to ninety degrees Celsius and lined for protection from trace radiation. Nice. Composite-material battle carbine capable of toggling between semiautomatic, full-auto, and three-shot bursts, equipped with night vision, thermal imaging and scope…

Very nice.

Shepard's career had been more than _nice_ thus far. His rise from ensign within a few months of his enlistment had been nothing short of astronomical, what with the large pool of willing candidates entering the military since the First Contact War. Lots of people wanted a piece of the action now that space travel was finally _going_ somewhere.

But not Shepard. He'd always been dying to serve in space. As they said back on Luna's Proving Grounds, _Born a spacer, die a spacer._

His mother and father were both Alliance, through-and-through. And while his father had passed away nearly twelve years ago, Captain Hannah Shepard had made a name for herself. Youngest female Captain to date. Shepard had a lot to live up to.

Some (those who didn't have the clearance to read his personnel file) claimed that Shepard's rise to Alliance golden boy was the result of mere nepotism, but the brass knew better. Ever since his first training sessions the boy had shown exceptional promise, excelling in his field tests and more than earning his keep. A model soldier, in all ways.

Which was why he was quickly shortlisted for this rather sensitive op. The squad leader had told Shepard that he'd selected him specifically because of his field skills. He needed a good scout. He got the best.

What with the Council looking to investigate what exactly the mining company on Akuze had gotten itself into, the Alliance needed a team to quickly infiltrate and determine the nature of the event that had taken place on the distant planet. If reports were right, and nuclear devices had been used, then the mining teams had violated over a dozen treaties on intergalactic codes of business and military conduct.

"This could be a real black eye for us, son," the major had confided in Shepard after the mission briefing en route to Akuze. "We don't need any of those blue-faced asari or those bug-eyed salarian Council types mixed up in this. We get in, we slap the miners on the wrists for blowing a nuke and losing their comm cards, and we get out. If everything's alright, the brass assures me they can make the entire messy issue," he snapped his fingers for effect, smirking around his synthetic cigar, "disappear."

So now Shepard stood, smack-dab in the middle of one pretty damning piece of nuclear evidence, clad in some of the best scouting equipment credits could buy. Bringing his rifle sights to bear, Shepard keyed the electronic scope to zoom with a series of rapid blinks.

The night filter painted a ghostly green image over the rolling earth, which stretched upward several hundred meters ahead of Shepard's position towards the crater lip. Barely visible beyond, one of Akuze's savage mountain ranges speared the horizon.

Lowering his weapon, Shepard sounded off over his comm. "Lieutenant Shepard here. I've got a negative on a visual. No miners in sight. No transport either." He pressed an armored finger to the side of his head, as if that would improve his reception. It was an old habit ingrained from years of working with substandard equipment back during his Academy training. It was also completely unnecessary. The signal was excellent.

A brief burst of static before the response came through. "_Affirmative, Lieutenant. You see anything out there?_"

Shepard scanned the entire underwhelming vista with a single pan of his helmet. At the center of the crater (still too radioactive to approach without heavy anti-rad gear), the earth was entirely obliterated, blackened beyond redemption. The rocky outcroppings of the crater continued on for a great distance, punctuated by several deep ravines that he hadn't seen with the night vision in place. Sometimes good old eyesight was the best tech a soldier could hope for.

"I've got a visual on some gullies, Major. Permission to do a recon sweep?"

Another pause, this time heavy with hesitation. "_Copy that, Shepard. Give it two klicks then head back. We've just got word from command. Bug-out at dawn. We're massing along the west crater ridge. They're calling in orbital cameras for the rest. God only knows where those miners went._"

With a curt nod, Shepard turned to his three squadmates. Clad in similar gear, the Marines kept careful formation as they clambered over the remaining distance between themselves and the Lieutenant.

A squawk over the short-range comm. "Lieutenant, what was that about a bug-out I heard?" The voice was deep, gravelly.

"You heard 'em, Lee," chimed in the higher tones of Corporal Carter. "Come sun-up, we're getting off this rock."

The third soldier scanned the way they'd came from behind his tinted visor, shoulders slouched in relief. "Good," he enjoined huskily. "This place freaks me out."

Shepard motioned for his squad's attention with a quick hand-signal. "Let's stay professional, people," he instructed calmly, weapon at ease but arms not quite relaxed. "Toombs, I want you to lead Carter and Lee back along the ridge. I'll back you up shortly."

This was met with a round of shared glances between the Marines. "You sure you don't want to book it out of here with us, sir?" Lee asked in his deep, measured voice. "The regs don't usually allow for solo ops without immediate support."

"Yeah, boss," Carter quipped. "Don't you want to head back for some nice R&R? _Restin' and recreatin'._" He seemed to relish the words.

Shepard was already turning toward the ledge. "Lee: concern appreciated. Carter: stow it. Toombs: can you confirm my order?"

Toombs abruptly stopped gazing across the monumental crater. "Uh, yes sir. Lead the squad back, sir."

With a brief clap on Toombs's shoulder, Shepard set off down the bluff. The rest of the squad pulled back, heading off toward the distant lights of the mobile command. There waited for them the main force of the fifty-Marine complement, as well as several air transports waiting to shuttle them off the surface.

Shepard made his careful way along the rocky precipices. Several times he stopped to consult his waypoint to ensure he didn't stray off of the desired path. He had his eyes on one ravine in particular, maybe half a mile ahead. From this distance it was but a thin line in the earth, but he judged its width, and consequently its ability to perhaps shelter a vehicle, as considerable.

The trip took longer that he'd expected. Shepard picked through the outcroppings of stone, his progress slowed by the frequent shifts in elevation that had to be overcome and (less frequent, this, but much more alarming) the sudden appearance of a sheer drop into darkness as he stumbled onto a concealed rift. As such, Shepard drew near the end of his two half-mile journey nearly an hour later.

His first canyon turned up empty, just a shallow, sand-filled dip. Looming ahead, a high wall of weathered rock, hewn from the blast, rose to challenge him. This would be his final hurdle before finally calling it quits and getting back to the warmth and safety of the transport shuttles. Carter was right: R&R would go down pretty well with him right now.

The last of the failing light now glimmered feebly in the evening air, seeming to trickle down the pale brown crater stone, which seemed to glow faintly. The horizon was a deep crimson now, as amethyst chemical clouds crowded the low skies. Above, all was clear. The deepest void of indigo darkness pressed down upon him, interspersed with myriad tiny pinpricks of purest light.

Shepard halted his brief appreciation of nature to continue on his way. The air was already beginning to chill his exosuit, even with the thermal coils. The techs had assured him that the second skin could easily stand up to the relatively mild night lows of negative twenty in the forecast, but as they'd also boasted that no cold at all would breach the suit, Shepard wasn't quite so willing to take their word on faith.

Absent radio chatter filtered through his earpiece as he began his ascent. "_Recon 4, sound off. Anything in the southeast sector?_"

"_Negative._"

"_Anyone got a light? I can't do a proper sweep without a flare—_"

_"—cycling down engines. The frost is starting to chill the casings. Staying on reserve power until—_"

"_I want Shuttles Alpha through Charlie running hot, Corporal._"

"_Can't sir, the temp—_"

"_I'm picking up tectonic activity—_"

"_—Don't give me any lip, Corporal. Keep them running _hot—"

He did his best to tune out the excess noise. Clambering swiftly along the rock face, he knew already that his search was in vain. These mysterious disappearances happened often enough, sadly. What with pirates and smugglers taking refuge in hidden fortresses on these far-off worlds, it wasn't unheard of for, once or twice a year, a small group of explorers or colonists to simply vanish. Murdered, or captured and sold into slavery, there were many ways to go. Shepard had no illusions about locating any sign of the missing miners.

Which was why he was startled when, by the dying light of Akuze's setting sun, he spotted an odd discoloration on a rock face a few yards to his right. Shifting his center of gravity on the narrow ledge on which he was perched, Shepard hauled himself over another bluff. Alighting on his knees, he rose calmly, but with purpose. Loose rocks made unnervingly loud clattering sounds as his armored boots kicked into them, sending them tumbling off the cliff face back the way he'd came.

Shepard approached the strange marking. Kneeling at a safe distance, he squinted against the light, struggling to identify the blotch of dark color on the otherwise creamy stone. Night vision was equally useless, as the glare off of the faintly illuminated rock blinded him. He'd just have to get in closer. Besides, what harm could a bit of brown rock do to him?

Leaning in, Shepard examined the imperfection in the rock. It was as if something had been spilled, trickling down the surface of the stone. Curious. Acid rain, maybe. Or a vein of some sort of ore. Rubbing an armored finger against the rock, Shepard was about to give up on the strange anomaly, when something distinctly familiar caught his eye.

Some distance away, no more than three feet, concealed in the lengthening shadow of the ridge, another dark splotch was now visible. But where the previous marker had been shapeless and vaguely puddle-like, this was all-too defined. He recoiled instinctively.

A human handprint, pressed against the stone. The fingers were splayed outward, as if grasping at the rock, struggling to find purchase. The imprint of the palm was smeared, and appeared to have been dragged.

All noise seemed to deaden. The incessant chatter over his comm died out, the faint howl of the nighttime wind all but forgotten.

In an instant, Shepard's hand strayed to his recon kit at his belt. Withdrawing a thin, plastic cylinder, Shepard kept his eyes trained on the simple, terrifying mark. As the tube bent between his fingers, a faint _snap_ sounded and the Luminol glow-stick was activated. Black light streamed from his outstretched hand, casting strange relief on the shaded stone.

And caused the bloody handprint to glow with a pale blue radiance.

Shepard's own blood ran cold as he, tossing the stick aside, climbed up the ridge without a second thought.

The summit was only a few feet above him, and the slope was gentle. Rushing upward, streams of pebbles and coarse sand tumbling down in his wake, Shepard drew level with the lip of the ravine.

Below, right at his feet, a wide chasm stretched. Easily twelve feet across, and perhaps sixty down. The walls were composed of the same dull rock, but unlike the unblemished terrain he had just traversed, its sheer walls were pockmarked and scoured, cut by long scars and punctuated by multiple warren-holes that tunneled into the depths of the earth. The smallest of these tunnels were six feet in diameter. Shepard couldn't gauge the largest.

But that didn't interest him.

What interested Shepard was the armored personnel carrier that lay discarded at the bottom of the crevice. It had to be the same one from the facility— no one else lived on this hostile planet. With that being said, it didn't look much like a transport anymore.

It had been turned over entirely on its side, its heavy titanium rear axle snapped clearly in two. The scratched silver carapace gleamed brightly even in the dim light, illuminating the area enough for Shepard to see perfectly clearly. Armored wheels jutted outward at unsettling angles, grossly twisted like broken limbs. The hull had been breached and ripped wide open, burst like a punctured can.

Blood painted the inside.

Not just the vehicle, but all along the valley floor. There it was, that same, innocuous dark stain, pooled along the ground where it had run in rivulets down the walls. It was everywhere. It adorned cliff sides, splattered along wide stretches of rock in unnatural patterns. Its sheer profusion sickened Shepard. He felt his heart in his mouth.

"Christ."

Something else, pale and gleaming, caught his wide eyes. Sprinkled across the ravine's depths, shining as innocently as the stars overhead, scattered bones lay discarded, chewed and snapped. They littered the site, some half-buried in the wreckage, some piled meticulously. A cracked skull peered upward from beneath a mass of twisted metal, and even at his distance Shepard could see the dark of its intact eye socket.

Suddenly tasting bile, he drew away.

Shepard's head spun in delirium as he panted loudly. His mind was racing. Those were the miners. They had to be. But what had done this? What had dragged down an armored transport to those depths and crushed it? What had _eaten_ those men and women _alive_?

He recalled the deep, brooding dark of the holes in the ground. The _tunnels_.

This was very, very bad.

And within moments he had recovered himself. Activating his comm, he shouted into his receiver, "Major! I've located the miners…" he paused as he retched slightly, now rapidly retreating from the deadly rim. He thought of the handprint on the rocks near where he stood. He hadn't been the first to try to escape, scrabbling madly at the merciless stone. There was something very old, and very dangerous, entombed in the pitch-dark of the crust. His head swam once again, and he mentally shook himself. "They were _eaten_—"

"_Shepard… Say again… Lieutenant… Did you say miners?_" The communication was filled with static. The voice was sharp, alert.

"Yes. They're dead. All dead. Some… _thing_ ate them." He swallowed, doing his best to speak clearly as he began to sprint down the steep hillside. Leaping none-too-gracefully from a crag, he landed on a lower mesa noisily. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself, bolting off. Had it not been for his reinforced shin guards, he might have snapped his ankles. They might have been wrenched, though, but he didn't feel any pain. The rush of adrenaline coursed through his body, elevating his senses. The pounding of his heart seemed incredibly loud as he ran, now with more control and thought, fueled an ancient, instinctual fear. He was the prey here.

The sun's last ambient rays dimmed and, after lingering regretfully for an instant, went out, abandoning the world to night.

Presently Shepard became aware of someone addressing him as the throbbing in his ears subsided slightly. The major's words were difficult to discern now, only so much noise amidst the endless squawking of the radio traffic.

"—_back to base immediately—_"

"_Eaten? Who was eaten?_"

"_Say again, Bravo Two?_"

Shepard's all-out sprint continued as the lieutenant rocketed along the bluffs and gullies, without any regard for the treacherous terrain now. The waves of static continued to bombard his ears, but he strained to catch any discernable words.

"—_want those gunships… fueled up _now_—_"

"_Major, I'm picking up more seismic readings_._ Some sort of localized earth—_"

"_What… readings?_"

"_There's an earthquake?_"

"_Recall… scouting teams!_"

He became aware of the fact that he still clutched his modified marksman rifle in his armored hands, but it was no comfort. Whatever had killed those people had driven them from their base and crushed their transport. A solid titanium transport. A few thermal rounds weren't going to do anything.

"_Yessir, two hundred… belowground, half a klick north… never seen anything like it._ _Anyone else getting this?_"

"_Roger, I'm picking it up too. It's moving. Estimate sixty kilos per—_"

"_I want a fix on this thing!_"

Shepard could see it now, in the distance. All along the eastern bank of the crater, maybe five hundred yards away, the glow-strips and running-lights of the landing party shone vibrantly, testament to the true-blue Alliance forces stationed there. Only a little further to go. They'd board the dropships, get off this damned planet.

"Something killed them, sir," he panted, not allowing his words to slow his escape. "Subterranean alien life. Destroyed their rover. I couldn't count the bodies."

The bedlam issuing from his speakers ensured Shepard couldn't hear if his CO had received this information. Amidst the white noise and the multitude of confused voices, he could only pick out snippets of conversation.

"—_all units, fall—_"

"_Kodiak Charlie ready for boarding, engines primed—_"

"_Ignite your fuel now! Prep—_"

"—_want full combat capabilities. Roll out the rovers_—"

"—_hostile alien life._"

"—_aliens? We're under attack?_"

"_Quiet on the line!_"

"_Seismic readings stronger now! They're converging on our location! Heading three-four-oh—_"

"_What?_"

"_Igniting engines_."

In the distance, Shepard heard the roar of multiple gunships firing up their main thrusters. Even from where he stood, he could feel the vibrations the rumbling engines caused in the earth underfoot. The Alliance aviators were prepped to load up all personnel for a quick evacuation, and now idled, awaiting further instructions.

Unfortunately for the pilots, this was precisely the wrong thing to do. The reverberations in the earth, while not nearly as cataclysmic as those caused by the nuclear blast, were more than enough to broadcast a geological signal through the crust, in the same way the nuke and the rover had done.

Shepard had just cleared the lip of the crater when it happened.

"_The signal's right on top of us!_"

"_Shuttle Bravo, ready for ta—_"

The explosion was magnificent. The blast that radiated from the compressed fuel tank ignited a minuature sun that seemed to hover, as though time had been suspended, only meters off the ground, casting everything around it into the sharpest relief for a nanosecond. Shepard could see the forms of soldiers diving for cover and the outlines of other vehicles as though through a snapshot. It was somehow morbidly stunning. Shuttle Bravo was nowhere to be seen.

Then the fiery light extinguished itself faster than it had appeared, as a mass of roiling dust and earth shot upward from the earth to consume it. The column of soil and smoke blasted outward, pelting nearby Marines with shrapnel and rocks. Distant screams could be heard on the wind.

The cloud began to settle. Shepard, now halted in his tracks, thought he could see a dark form thrashing violently in its depths.

The Marines were still coming to grips with the disaster.

"_What just happened?_"

"_We've lost the shuttle—_"

"_They're all dead—_"

"_What the f—_"

"_Clear the line! Order! All personnel, pipe down!_" Shepard recognized, through the haze that had fallen over his shell-shocked brain, the authoritative tones of his CO.

The command might have been followed, if not for what happened next.

"_Oh my God!_"

"_What is that thing_?"

"_Aughhh!_"

Out of the shadow, something struck. Long and serpentine, its scaled body gleamed like a beacon in the starlight, ebon plates flashing dangerously. A bright, bioluminescent blue mouth, split radially into jagged mandibles lined with dozens of rows of spined teeth, parted in a terrible roar. Its keening screech caused Shepard's knees to buckle, as another, comparatively silent scream breached his lips.

There was the briefest silence after the echo of the beast's call resonated across the plains. For just a moment, the night was utterly still, save for the calm wind.

Then, as if in response to this hellish signal, the Thresher Maws attacked.

Out of the gloom they came, bursting through holes in the previously stable ground and darting out of recesses in the stone with viperlike speed. Their spearlike tongues flashed like lightning, impaling soldiers through the torso before retracting them, screaming a horrible high-pitched squeal, into their waiting jaws.

Bodies fell or fled, as the unit broke into immediate disarray. A second transport attempted takeoff as multiple bodies clambered aboard, before another, larger beast burst from the ground below to envelop it like the first. Another flash of light, brief, contained. Then they were gone, too.

Shepard sprinted to the center of action, rifle at the ready. One hand clasped a high-yield grenade strapped to his bandolier. His feet barely touched the ground as he ran flat-out for his allies.

The response was quick. Those furthest away from the epicenter of the attack marshalled themselves into a phalanx, rifles and grenade launchers at the ready. The brilliant flashes of crimson and white light lit up the night as if in retaliation against the earthen darkness. The report of thermal gunfire echoed across the flat terrain like peals of thunder. Rounds ricocheted off of alien armor, sparking harmlessly as the Threshers dove back underground for cover.

Within seconds, they resurfaced once again in towering pillars of earth. The dry soil flared outward into a nightmarish cloud, concealing the battlefield better than any smoke grenade. From within its depths, more shrieks and high howls could be heard. The combat phalanx scattered, but few could outrun the shadow. Those that did failed to get far, as more flashes of blue lightning harpooned them and dragged them back in.

The radio was filled with the screams of Shepard's comrades as they ran or died. One voice died out into a low, plaintive moan, as an obscene sucking noise filtered through the Marine's headset. There was a terrible grinding, followed by a loud squelching sound as his armor was bitten through and his flesh exposed to the rotating teeth of the Maw. Somehow, above all else, Shepard heard this.

He drew nearer, his head, previously cool, now muddled and his thoughts astray. What could he do? Go charging into the swirling maelstrom to do… what? Avenge his teammates? Save them? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shepard knew this was impossible, but his rational mind was no longer functioning. They couldn't all be… _dead_.

He saw Lee, and Carter, and Toombs in his mind's eye, clear as Akuze's blistering day, bodies ripped open and flesh scoured from their bones, which were left scattered like the bodies along that godforsaken ridge. All dead. It _couldn't_ be.

One thing was for sure. He wasn't going to let them die alone.

Which was what Shepard had deluded himself into thinking when the cacophony of death shrieks and terrified voices was abrubtly cut off. They were still audible, faintly, over the blustering wind. Many years later, Shepard could still hear them when he paused in a quiet place, somewhere dark, alien, and alone. They were screaming, calling his name, perhaps. The shadow of this night would never leave him. Not entirely.

He was interrupted in his final charge into death and glory, however, when a single, agitated voice barked over his comm. "_All remaining units, this is Major Strickland_. _Fall back. Do not engage. Shut down and abandon all mechanized engines. These things are hunting us. Fall back—"_

There was a burst of white noise, then he was gone, too.

Off from the main center of activity, Shepard discerned several human figures fleeing up a low line of hills. Not a hundred feet away. Without a second thought, he ran to join them.

Nine Alliance Marines hunkered down in the filth and the dark. Shepard slid down the last embankment to join them, and nine rifle muzzles rose to greet him swiftly.

There was a brief pause as each side considered the other. Then, a low, measured voice. "Stand down, men. It's the LT."

Lee crouched with his back to the knoll, his rifle loaded and braced against his chest plate. His visor was smeared with dust, but Shepard could faintly make out the familiar friendly eyes. "Sir, we've got a situation."

Another Marine cursed loudly under his breath, causing a third to strike him outright across the helmet. "Quiet!"

"Jesus." Shepard could discern the light tones of Toombs, who sat, rifle at his side. His head was lowered, gazing intently at the soil as though he fully expected it to swallow him up. "Shepard," he asked in a quiet voice, "what the hell _are_ those things?"

"I… I don't know," the lieutenant uttered, his own eyes wide as saucers. He kept his weapon clutched firmly in both hands. As the group of survivors glanced at each other frantically, he spoke up, with more conviction. "It doesn't matter. They've neutralized—"

"_Neutralized?_" whispered Carter, kneeling close beside Lee. He swore profusely. "They're _dead_! All dead! The major, Stevens, Jones, all of them! Those _things_—" He quelled at a single curt glance from Lee.

"They took out two transports, Lieutenant," Lee informed Shepard in his customary level voice. "Only Charlie Shuttle is left."

"Why didn't those… things destroy it?"

Toombs and Carter stared at a pilot who slumped against Lee's left shoulder. She said nothing, her dark-armored form trembling slightly. Lee hugged her shoulder bracingly as he spoke. "Amanda here powered hers down in time. She and some of her crew met up with us," (here he gestured at Carter and Toombs). "I don't know how the hell she did it."

Shepard's response was cut short by the sound of a not-so-distant howl. The sound of shrieking metal echoed as the creatures began to scavenge the ruined campsite. They all shivered collectively, but the flight lieutenant seemed to come out of her withdrawal, as though galvanized by the noise to speech.

"Mark…" she whispered faintly. "My co-pilot. He gave us the time we needed. We ran. Those…" her mouth grew dry and she licked her lips nervously. Her breath was short and irregular. "They grabbed Jenkins and O'Loy. We're all that's left."

"Add these two from Recon 4, and that's all of us," Lee said, waving a hand at a pair of scouts who huddled close together. One absently fingered his weapon, as though daydreaming. The other shook violently. "All other units were assembled at the landing zone."

Shepard did a quick head count. Amanda and her flight crew made four. The scouts made six. With his squad and himself, that made an even ten. Seeing as how the main force of the Marine division had been completely wiped out in seconds, it wouldn't be enough to fight the creatures.

"Okay, first thing's first," Shepard stated matter-of-factly, hating himself for not grieving for the others just yet. "Can we confirm if anyone else made it out? And what kind of transport is left?"

Amanda looked down from her contemplation of the starry sky that reflected itself in her dark visor. In a weary voice, she intoned, "I have the vital stats of the entire team on this." She waved a wristpad weakly, as though she lacked the will to move. "Flight manifest. They've all redlined. It's just us."

"As for transport," Carter chimed in, "Lee reckons we can blast out of here in that gunship. Maybe send a volley or two back down to earth to blow those bastards out of their holes." He pounded his fist into his gauntlet for emphasis. "Get some _payback_."

"Negative," Shepard stated decisively. "Did you see what happened the last time they tried to take off? Snatched right out of the air before they cleared ten feet."

"Then what the hell do _you_ suggest, huh?" Carter's voice started to rise dangerously before he checked himself. When he spoke, however, insubordination was heavy in his voice. "We can't just sit here, _waiting_."

"No, we can't," he agreed, deciding to let the insolence go. Everyone was plagued by their thoughts right now. No need to be gung-ho about regulations. "We're all that's left. We need to get off this planet, but we can't risk moving over open ground, or starting those engines. There'd have to be some sort of distraction."

"Those monsters are chewing on the bones of our _buddies_," one of the scouts spat angrily. "I think that's enough distraction."

A crewman spoke up quietly. "I saw a Lotus tank as we ran. Used it for cover. Maybe we could fight those things with it?"

"Or we could grab a jeep, drive off. Hail help somewhere else," Lee suggested reasonably.

"They'd just follow us underground," the other scout muttered dejectedly. "We're dead. It's over."

Shepard shook his helmeted head vigorously. "We're going to get out of this," he assured his ragged squad. Toombs's shoulders sank hopelessly. "Trust me. We just need to stay focused, and bide our time—"

He became consciously aware of the fact that, as one, the other nine faces that sat in front of him looked up slowly, their visors rendered unreadable by the starlight. Suddenly Shepard's blood ran cold. The world became very, very quiet, as, over the continuous din of the wind, he heard rocks shift quietly, somewhere behind him.

Almost imperceptibly, Shepard readied his rifle. Lee, Carter, and Toombs did the same. The silence was absolute then, as the lieutenant sensed the creature approaching from behind. At an unbidden signal, born of countless hours' training with his squadmates, Shepard spun around and fired. His companions did likewise.

The juvenile Thresher Maw, easily six or seven feet long, that had been silently creeping up behind Shepard caught two clipfulls of thermal energy in its gaping mouth, which blasted through the phosphorescent tissue easily. The armored worm gave a terrible cry before the sustained fire liquified its skull. The beast reared back in pain as its primitive brain shut down entirely, and it collapsed with a tremendous _crash!_ into the dusty ground.

A distant bellow. More were coming.

Without taking time to reload, Shepard sprang from the hollow, shouting over their closed radio, "Go! Go! _Go!_" The others did likewise without hesitation, and as one they dashed from their hiding place, straight back down the hillside.

Shepard's expert eyes surveyed the battlefield. Massive craters pockmarked the earth, and the wreckage of multiple all-terrain vehicles lay scattered across the ground. Wide swathes of scorched earth marked the sites were Shuttles Alpha and Bravo had been consumed. A squat, heavy transport sat like some massive scarab fifty paces to the west. The Lotus tank. With a magnetic accelerator barrel and ballistic antimaterial cannisters, it was a formidable weapon. It had been left untouched by the vibration-sensitive subterranean feeders. Evidently it was offline.

But it would be of no use to them. It would take far too long to activate, and the shells, while certainly deadly enough to bisect the massive worms, couldn't be fired quickly enough to kill them all. Especially if the attack came from below once again.

No, their best bet, as much as Shepard hated the idea, was Amanda's shuttle. If they could have just twenty seconds to warm the engines, they could be off of this damned rock and out of the Thresher Maws' reach. While he'd discounted this plan previously without a distraction, Shepard knew they now had no choice. He had to hope that the bigger creatures were far too busy feasting on the dead to act swiftly.

He noted all of this in a single instant. In the next, he was leading the charge along the open ground. The ten soldiers weaved between two overturned jeeps, sprinting around a collapsed hole left behind by one of the original attackers. Shepard caught sight of a suit-clad figure part-buried in the dirt, part-chewed away. Fresh blood pooled from the sucking hole in its torso where its arms and neck had been, before freezing solid in the rapidly dropping temperatures.

Shepard's breathing came in ragged gasps as exhaustion and the pain in his ankle began to take hold, but now was not the time to falter. Ahead, no more than a hundred paces away, idled Shuttle Charlie. They just had to hold out a little longer.

They had made it perhaps forty paces, when the next wave struck. As they attempted to give a smaller crater a wide berth, an undersized Maw flashed out and, in an instant, wrapped its spined mandibles about one of the crewmen's legs. Multiple arms reached out to seize him, but none were faster than the creature. He screamed once before he was whipped away, his hands pawing madly at the mouth of the hole before vanishing entirely in a puff of dust.

Amanda cried out in despair, but Toombs and Shepard snared her by the arms, hauling her away. At that instant, the monster shot out again, narrowly missing the pilot. Carter fired an incendiary round into its face head-on. The resulting flash blinded the beast, and it recoiled into its den, yowling.

They ran on. Sixty paces now. As they thundered along, the scouts pulled ahead, utilizing their abilities to close distance with the transport. It happened just as fast as before. Two Threshers appeared, one slithering from an old passage, another blasting a new one open.

In an instant, they were on them. One scout ducked under the initial lunge, rolling forward before glancing back to check on his fellow. The second was not as lucky. The strike caught him full-on in the torso. The mouth wrapped around him, teeth punching through his armored chest with ease. The serpentine creature did not retreat, but rather slithered away rapidly from the scene, into the dark. The writhing soldier couldn't make a sound as blood flooded his lungs.

Seventy-five.

They caught up with the first scout, and fired a collective barrage of shots to discourage the first Maw as it attempted to attack the helpless soldier. Catching a few in the face, it screeched viciously, lashing out with its tongue. Toombs darted forward, pushing the scout out of the way. The proboscis struck empty air, curled, and doubled back like a whip, slicing through Toombs's leg armor like rice paper. With a scream, he staggered and fell to the ground.

The beast retreated, and Carter hauled Toombs to his feet. As they hobbled along, slower than ever, the insistant creature returned. A quick lash of its razor-sharp tongue divorced another crewman's head from his shoulders. His body crumpled sadly to the dry earth, blood issuing freely from his stump of a neck.

In a flash, the Maw encircled the limping duo and, with only a moment's hesitation, Carter threw Toombs bodily out of the enclosing circle to land at Shepard's feet.

Carter stood his ground against the titanic worm, his snarl of anger audible over their headsets. "_Come on, you son of a bitch!_" Multiple shots rang out from his weapon, flaming ammunition peppering the monster's face. The corporal made to jump out himself, but the Thresher rapidly constricted before his leg was clear. There was a hideous snapping sound, and Carter's scream echoed in all directions, curdling Shepard's blood.

Once more guns were leveled to aid him. Once more, the Maw sped off into the dark with its prize. Carter's screams did not cease. Shepard screwed his eyes shut for an instant, but no tears came. They would later, if they survived this.

This time, however, the last crewman broke ranks. Without a thought for himself, he sprinted off after his fallen ally with nothing but a sidearm, ignoring the others' cries of warning. Before Shepard could bolt after him, Amanda's shuttle technician appeared to stumble, vanishing into a warren he hadn't even seen. He didn't emerge again.

A few seconds later, Carter's distant shrieks faded to silence.

With a loud oath, Shepard released Amanda, and together they helped the wounded Toombs to his feet. The corporal whimpered in agony, his right leg dangling uselessly at a hideous angle. Shepard was just about to call for Lee when he noticed the large, familiar figure bolt with purpose off to their right.

"_Lee!_" he shouted, and the second scout joined in. "What the hell are you doing?" Even as he spoke, they trudged on hastily, moving as fast as their limping speed could allow.

The deep voice was just as warm and reassuring as it always had been, although now it was tinged with sadness. "Getting you that distraction!" In moments he had crossed the unblemished ground between their location and the Lotus tank. Clambering aboard, he wrenched the canopy roof open with a single hand, while aiming wildly with his rifle in the other. He squeezed off a few shots at some unseen target before crawling in.

The tank roared to life.

_Damn it,_ Shepard thought, as Toombs limped alongside him. _Lee, no._

Shepard and the remaining survivors reached the shuttle. It was a small affair, built to hold no more than twenty armored bodies. The thrusters were out, but surprisingly still warm after being shut down by Amanda's co-pilot only minutes before. Amanda rushed aboard, settling into her chair. Her fingers danced across the control panel, flicking several swtiches and adjusting a dial or two. The thrusters responded immediately, issuing tiny blue-white jets of fire from the belly of the craft.

Shepard felt a rumbling in the earth. This was it. In a few moments the Maw would spring up from below, obliterating them in an instant. They would be vaporized by the exploding fuel cell, and all that would be left of them was ash to settle on the surface of this alien world, or to be scattered on the harsh wind.

But instead the creature burst out of its belowground passage twenty yards off of their port, rearing upward like a terrible snake as it confronted the tank. The long barrel quickly rotated and loosed a shot, a reverberating _boom!_ accompanying a flare of light. It clipped the Thresher Maw in its midsection. A colossal chunk of meat was blown away, allowing luminescent blood to flow forth. An ear-splitting cry rent the frigid air, before another shell imploded the beast's head. Toombs and the scout gave a cry of joy.

But it was a momentary victory. Three more monstrous forms emerged about the tank, drawn by their brethren's cries as well as the heavy vibrations of the shell impacts. Lee loosed another salvo, and Shepard heard several cannisters hit their marks, but he could waste no more time. He had to honor Lee's sacrifice.

The thrusters increased in strength as Amanda threw the throttle wide, and the Kodiak shuttle shuddered loudly. Amanda compensated for the upward thrust with a judicious application of the control yoke. Takeoff was imminent.

Shepard helped Toombs into a crash-seat by the exit hatch so that he could quickly turn back to aid the scout. The armored Marine was occupied firing a volley of shots from a kneeling position into the yawning darkness beyond their transport. Shepard could make out multiple forms slithering just outside the pool of thruster light.

"Come on!" he bellowed, stepping forward to haul the man back. "Let's go!"

The soldier about-faced after emptying his clip. His eyes, visible for once behind his narrow slitted Recon-style visor, made contact with Shepard's. They were a bright green, and stared at him inquisitively. He paused for only an instant.

There was a rustling sound. The eyes widened in surprise. Both the lieutenant and the scout glanced downward to see the long spinelike needle protruding through the private's chest. He made no sign that he was distressed, only glanced, in a daze, up at Shepard.

The eyes met his once again, red-rimmed with tears of pain. Or perhaps simply sadness. So close.

Then those eyes shut in resignation, and even as Shepard stepped forward to receive him, the scout was yanked violently back into the darkness like a ragdoll.

"No!" Toombs shouted despairingly.

Without a moment to recognize this, Shepard threw himself into the waiting shuttle bay, narrowly avoiding another passing tongue. He crashed bodily into the titanium flooring, and felt its reassuring, familiar touch.

But he remembered the sight of the ravaged transport, made of similar metal, ripped wide open by hungry, probing jaws in that dark crevice; its human contents plucked out one by one to be ground and chewed voraciously. They weren't out of the woods yet.

In the distance, he heard the sound of another round of mortar shells being lobbed at the gathering creatures. Lee was putting up one hell of a fight. Shepard silently prayed he could draw out his sacrifice as long as possible.

Rising unsteadily, Shepard staggered forward as the floor heaved unevenly, while Amanda wrestled with her controls.

"Can't… lift off!" she groaned through her mouthpiece, hands savagely gripping the joystick. "Something's got us!"

Sure enough, as Shepard turned around, he saw the hideous sight of a long, blue spine, wrapped spitefully about the starboard landing gear. The foul appendage jerked viciously on the shuttle, attempting to drag it back to earth.

"We've got a problem!" Shepard shouted over his shoulder.

Amanda let out a fierce cry and, with the tap of a button, redirected the thruster. A five-yard stream of fire blasted the tongue, which held on with a greedy determination even as the five-hundred-degree flames licked its surface. After several heart-pounding seconds, as the shuttle rocked violently and the pilot battled her throttle controls, the Maw's grip relented, and the tongue recoiled like a flaming rope. The shuttle rocketed free.

Shepard was just releasing the breath he'd been holding for so long, when the unthinkable happened.

That same flailing, flaming appendage whipped out one final time, clipping the shuttle on its portside. The ship rocked once, just once, as Amanda quickly adjusted her controls, but it was enough to cause Toombs, still fumbling with his crash-webbing, to tumble from his seat.

He hit the deck, rolled once, and vanished over the edge.

"Toombs!"

Shepard dove after him faster than thought, crawled all the way to the yawning drop-off into the dark below. Fifteen feet down, he thought he could see a body, lying prone amongst the wreckage and the fires, but he couldn't be certain.

"We have to go back! He might still be alive!" he heard himself shouting hoarsely over the wind, but even as he spoke the automated hatch sealed the cabin.

"No," Amanda spoke quietly over the intercom. Her voice was steely, resigned. She knew as well as he did that they couldn't touch down again. Not to save Toombs, and not to save Lee. She glanced at her wrist pad, and her helmet was bathed in a faint green glow. "He's dead," she breathed, her voice heavy.

At this Shepard rose once again, as though in a trance, and peered out of the starboard-side viewport.

Below, the landscape was a vision of hell. Massive monsters roiled and writhed across the barren earth, now attacking each other as the battle wound down. Scattered fires burned across the plain, casting relief on the sight of countless strewn pieces of wreckage. They glared up at Shepard like accusatory eyes. The eyes of those he had left behind.

He could make out, faintly, the incongruous, shadowy shape of the abandoned base that the Maws had driven the miners from. The crater was all but invisible now, concealed within the uniform pitch-black vista.

Shepard thought he could make out the telltale flash of one last blast of cannon fire on the dark surface, but he blinked, and it was no more.

_Goodbye, Lee._

Staggering away from the wide window, Shepard's hands flew to his helmet. Unsteady fingers popped the seal, ripping it away entirely. He gasped for air, his eyes screwed shut in sorrow.

In the cockpit at the vessel's stern, Amanda did the same. Shepard caught sight of close-cropped auburn hair, and a slender neck bowed in sadness. Her pale face was vaguely illuminated by the display lights. Shepard didn't bother to approach her.

"I'm sorry," she muttered silently. "I'm so sorry."

Shepard felt a burning hatred for her and himself, for having the gall to survive when so many others had died. He sank into a seat dejectedly, unwilling to bring his eyes to the chair where, maybe sixty seconds ago, Toombs had sat, very much alive.

He heard a scream of despair echoing along the craft's hold, and it took Shepard a moment to realize it was his own. Resting his face in his gloved palms, he gritted his teeth in fury. _Not good enough. I couldn't save them. Damn it._

_Damn it._

He was possessed by a sudden, irrational desire. "I want to see the roster," he heard himself say slowly with conviction. "I have to know they're dead."

Shepard rose swiftly from his chair, but before he had crossed the troop bay, Amanda's voice called back to him. It was husky and monotone, devoid of all inflection. She slumped resignedly against her seat, gazing wistfully at her empty co-pilot's chair.

"We're out of range. Here," she tapped a few commands into the wrist computer, and waved it in Shepard's direction halfheartedly. "Last known data." A long list, forty-eight in number, of names scrolled down it, ending with Toombs and Lee. Each name was understruck by a grim red line.

Reality crushed Shepard's heart with a terrible finality.

Without a word he settled back into his chair, but did not buckle his crash-webbing. Shepard half-wanted another Maw to strike, to take him just as it had taken Toombs. He didn't deserve to live. He wasn't any better. Just luckier.

But right then, he didn't feel lucky at all.

There was silence in the hold for what seemed the longest time. The ship hummed faintly as the autopilot guided the vehicle into orbit. Suddenly, Shepard felt the hold of Akuze's gravity release the shuttle. They were away.

Amanda drew back from her controls. Her job was done. Shepard heard her sigh once, a slow, lingering sound. He couldn't see it, but she rested her forehead against the cool glass of the front viewport.

After a while, she spoke once again, as the cockpit door swung shut on oiled hinges. "The carrier should be by to pick you up in a few hours. Tell them what happened."

Shepard's body tensed as he realized the implications of her words. "Wait, Amanda—"

"Don't worry," she laughed quietly, in a deranged sort of way. Her hand calmly loosed her sidearm in its shoulder holster. "The hull is reinforced. You'll be fine."

He bolted from his seat, all worries forgotten. Shepard raced across the hold, feet scrabbling madly for purchase as the smooth deck heaved and tilted while cosmic winds buffeted their craft. "Amanda!" he shouted, seizing the hatch to the cockpit. "_Don't!_"

The intercom through which she spoke clicked off. Seated in her pilot's chair, Amanda contemplated the millions of stars that wheeled overhead. They reflected in her wide, forlorn eyes. A sad smile touched her lips.

Outside the hatch, Shepard struggled in vain against the pneumatic seal. Kicking viciously at the unyielding metal, he drew back, and loosed a clip from his rifle into the door's framework. The engineering was sound. The door held.

The cold muzzle of an M12 pistol pressed itself against her temple. Her eyes strayed from the heavens to the six empty seats around her. She could imagine them occupied by the men and women she'd fought with and laughed with and cried with, all together just an hour before.

_Jenkins, O'Loy._ Dead before they'd managed to escape.

_Barnes, Rogers, Lawrence_. Picked off, one by one, as they'd fought their way back.

The co-pilot's chair was bathed in the glow of Akuze's distant sun.

_Mark…_ Flight Lieutenant Amanda Richards shut her eyes for the last time. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Beyond the viewing window, Shepard screamed silently.

"Goodbye. Be at peace."

There was a loud report as the handgun discharged, loosing a single shot.

And so Akuze claimed all but the last.

Shepard sank to his knees. His weapon left his hands, and he rested his head against the cold touch of the titanium bulkhead. He closed his eyes as despair and fatigue claimed him.

Alone in the dark, he prayed for an end that did not come.


	2. Chapter 1

**ACT ONE**

* * *

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Phoenix Massing, en route to [CLASSIFIED: Level-4 clearance required], Captain's Cabin, 0038 hours**

Shepard sat bolt upright, chest heaving in alarm. A cold sweat had broken out across his rugged features as his eyes turned wildly in their sockets. Teeth on edge, he gradually came to his senses, realizing that no real danger was present. With a silent groan, he fell back against his matted pillow, panting as if he had just run a fifteen-kilo course. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.

He glanced resignedly at the bedside clock. 0039 hours. Just after midnight. He couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour. Instead of feeling relaxed and somewhat rested, Shepard just felt worse.

What had he been dreaming about to wake him from his sleep so disturbed? He screwed his eyes shut, his head still pounding to an irregular, painful rhythm, as he struggled to recall.

It returned to him suddenly. At the mere memory of it, his heart skipped a beat.

Akuze.

He knew the dream well. He'd been having it for almost ten years now. Shepard still remembered vividly when he'd been recovered from that doomed expedition, hauled from the battered, scorched shuttle and brought aboard an Alliance cruiser. He'd been delirious, blinded by the harsh light of the _Cape Town_'s landing bay. Medics had strapped him to a gurney, hooked him up to an IV, and were just wheeling him to the medical deck when a second team emerged from Charlie Shuttle with a body bag.

Bizarrely, Shepard's only thought at the moment had been, _I never even saw her face._

The ship's captain quickly brought him in for debriefing. Shepard had vague memories of being seated in an unyielding chair, squinting in the light of an interrogation lamp.

It had been an interrogation. No doubts about that. With fifty Alliance Marines dead, not to mention the loss of millions of dollars of material, the ill-advised leadership needed someone on which whose shoulders they might lay the blame. Consequently, Shepard's role as sole survivor came under fire very quickly. The brass had found their scapegoat.

His memories grew hazy at this point. Shepard had no recollection of the weeks after his recovery. He had been sent to a VA hospital on Arcadia, or so he'd been told afterwards. The Alliance leadership had silenced reports on the disaster until Shepard was lucid enough to testify. After a two-week incarceration in the psychiatric ward, under the close observation of the medical staff, Shepard was summoned to an Alliance tribunal.

Psychiatrists, officers, they all wanted to talk to him. His N7 status had been suspended until further notice, and this, of all the other indignities, angered Shepard the most. He hadn't done anything wrong, except survive. When questioning him about the fiasco, they alternated between treating him like a criminal and a mental patient.

But the truth won out, eventually. When the media got wind of the catastrophe, the pro-Council lobbyists on Earth seized the opportunity to blame the brass for the foolhardy mission, citing it as another example of humanity disregarding Council regulations.

Lauded by the politicians as some kind of hero (a title Shepard couldn't stomach to hear), the lieutenant was soon released from psychiatric custody. His impatience with the doctors' probing questions and therapies seemed to be taken as a sign of recovery, and after working painstakingly through months' worth of red tape, Shepard was reassigned to light duty on Luna. Despite his protests that he'd recovered from what his therapists labeled "Intense mental trauma," his superiors had developed the aggravating habit of treating him like a slow child.

He'd been twenty-two at the time. Four years of training and excellence in the field all shot to hell, as his status of Alliance golden boy was shattered. He was perceived as an oddball; mentally fragile, at the very least. Perhaps even unstable.

In order to avoid perpetuating this myth, Shepard failed to mention his nightmares to his counselor during their court-mandated bi-weekly sessions.

They had started the first night the doctors had taken him off the sleep meds. Vivid, horrific visions of that terrible night burned themselves into his mind as he slept. The deep dark of Akuze's twilit landscape was the setting of his dreams for the longest time. During his worst night in the sanatorium, he'd hallucinated the roar of the Thresher Maw. His screams hadn't reached beyond his soundproofed cell.

In time, the dream's frequency decreased. It came perhaps every few days. Then weeks. Years passed. Shepard's natural talent and extreme dedication served as proof enough of his effectiveness in the field, but assignment after assignment, posting after posting, the brass continued to hold him back. Never anything too risky. Nothing too important to be trusted to the freak who'd watched his whole unit buy it on Akuze.

Shepard had spent those years resentful of the Alliance for what he saw as their betrayal. He compensated by doing his best to prove the naysayers wrong. John Shepard hadn't been a basket case before Akuze, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let them brand him one now. But he was realistic. Those in the Alliance who had previously resented his rise to favor did not fail to use his history against him whenever they could. Many a mission had been denied him for this reason.

He had been confident that the Akuze disaster would spell the end of his military career, and had just come to terms with that, when the call came in. One Captain Anderson had requested a Lieutenant Shepard for his bridge crew on a state-of-the-art frigate.

A set of rotation orders arrived for Shepard, ordering him to report to the SSV _Normandy_ for briefing and enrollment as the ship's XO. A set of commander's bars had accompanied the paperwork. The rest was galactic history.

But while the story of his rise to Spectre and the tale of his epic journey to defeat Saren had earned him the praise of the Council and the adoration of the public, the shadow of that night never truly left Shepard.

His gaze shifted from the clock to the set of Alliance dog tags that hung from a rack on his nightstand. Embossed with his name, serial number, and blood type, they were a memento of his distinguished career as an Alliance officer prior to his Spectre induction. They were polished to a mirror sheen and maintained with the utmost respect. They had miraculously survived the destruction of the _Normandy_ SR-1 and were in mint condition, save for one small defect.

Nine scratches marked the tags' backsides, cut carefully with a combat knife so many years ago. Just nine. One for each soul he'd failed to save that night.

He would never forget.

With that being said, Shepard was greatly disturbed by the dream's return. It hadn't plagued him in over two years, not since his encounter with the first Prothean Beacon. He couldn't afford losing sleep over it, though. Settling back comfortably into his bed, Shepard resolved to see Doctor Chakwas in the morning about some sleeping pills.

As he settled back against the cool sheets, he heard a gentle rustling to his left. Shepard turned to find a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring into his own.

"Are you alright?"

Her voice was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. A sense of calm stole over him. The gentle, playful melody of her speech rushed through his ears, as though it were a refreshing wind rather than a quiet whisper. Happier memories returned to him now. Days of laughter, and joy. It almost made him forget the presence of the darkness over his mind.

Almost.

Even so, Liara's proximity, her _closeness_, was intoxicating. He smiled as he drew her near in a tender embrace. The simple warmth of her touch soothed him. All tension in his limbs vanished.

Their hearts beating side-by-side, he rested his head against her own. Azure eyes spoke untold volumes to him, wide with concern and affection. He kissed her, and those eyes shut dreamily. After all too short a time, they broke apart.

"Yes," Shepard confided in a soft whisper. "I'm fine now."

And he was. It had been five months since he and Liara had been reunited. Five glorious months since the fall of the dreaded Shadow Broker, the Prince of Shadows. The network had been destroyed, the hidden base likewise, and the twisted being's vie for immortality foiled.

Tali had recovered beautifully from her wound, and had spent the past dozen weeks in physical therapy. Since she had flat-out refused to seek quarian aid from the Migrant Fleet, Doctor Chakwas inisted on handling her check-ups. Mordin took over her personal training, as Tali struggled to regain her lost constitution. He'd even gone so far as to construct a workout playlist from the latest Citadel hits to assist her. Batarian hard rock group _Eye for an Eye_ and the famed asari pop artist Gaia could be heard blasting through the Engineering deck at all hours of the day. Garrus had generously donated both, on the condition that word not get out whose albums they were. Shepard wasn't sure which the turian was more embarrassed about.

Feron had been rescued, too. After spending a brief stint in the Medical Bay, he'd been transferred to the Illium hospital Sisters of Mercy. Feron had made the selection himself. At last report, he was stable, under the care of one Dr. Daniel Abrams, and had already made quite an impression on the nursing staff. Word had reached them of a paternity suit in the works. His survival more than anything else relieved Liara. For almost three years she'd been hounded by guilt over what she had perceived to be her abandonment of the drell during their ill-fated recovery mission of Shepard's corpse. Seeing him alive, and recovering, had been the last loose end for her. She was at peace.

For Shepard, it was not quite as easy. He could still recall the tired, wise face of their mutual friend and confidant, the Admonitor. It had been his assistance and his absolute trust in them that had made their victory over the Broker possible. But that victory did not come without cost. The Admonitor had died, the only casualty of their private little war, executed remotely by the man he had once loved like a brother.

Shepard's contact on Omega, Aria T'Loak, had expressed her thanks for his previous assistance by sending him a little memento that her police recovered from the Admonitor's hidden apartment: a worn-down old pencil. Never written with, save for once, to write the letter that had warned Shepard against the Broker. Earth-make, easily three decades old, its wooden surface was marked and scuffed from years of being twirled between dexterous old fingers. It was still perfectly sharp.

Since then the Alliance had contacted him, Admiral Hackett in particular. Shepard had been privately requested, as a personal favor to Hackett, to locate and rescue one Dr. Amanda Kenson. What had started out as a delicate covert op in batarian space had turned into a terrifying race against time to halt an early Reaper invasion.

Shepard still suffered tremendous guilt at the cost of diverting the invasion fleet: some three hundred thousand batarian lives. The Hegemony was still investigating the cause of the destruction of the Alpha Relay, but their suspicions were clear. The Alliance was still giving the batarians the run-around, hoping to buy time. If anything was proven that tied Shepard or the Alliance to the disaster, it was an act of war. Hackett had confided in Shepard that, eventually, someone was going to have to face the music.

But there was no time to waste squabbling between galactic nations. The Reapers had only been stalled. Shepard couldn't afford to turn himself in to the batarians, not when the largest fleet in the universe drifted inexorably through Dark Space toward a divided and vulnerable galaxy. While most didn't believe Shepard's story, Anderson's and EDI's inquiries and estimates put the Reaper's return between one to three years. There was talk among the crew that it wouldn't be enough time to rally the races, who were still in the throes of centuries-old conflicts.

But they had to try. They had to make every day count. Which was why, at that very moment, the _Normandy_ was en route to a summit between the Council, the Alliance, and the geth Collective. Legion had been characteristically cryptic when approached about why the geth had called such a meeting.

Due to the highly sensitive nature of this alliance (still kept secret from the general public), their destination had been pre-programmed via an encrypted Alliance transmission. All Shepard knew was that it was located in the Phoenix Massing cluster, and only he, Joker, and EDI knew even that. Joker's big mouth being an obvious security risk, EDI had come up with the idea of threatening to leak his extranet bookmarks to the authorities should he talk. Being an AI, EDI wasn't going to betray the information, and so Garrus and Tali had gotten together several times, conspiring to worm the news from the commander. From flattery to well-intentioned blackmail, they'd been stonewalled every time.

Liara stroked his cheek once, her blue palm pressed gently against his skin. "You've been tossing and turning for half an hour now. Bad dream?" Concern was evident in her tone.

Shepard smiled weakly, drawing himself upright. Resting his face in his palm, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes nonchalantly. "It's nothing. Really. I just… I'm going to take a walk."

Rising from his prone position, the commander clambered off the bed, feet making contact with the carpeted floor. He took in the lounge area and the exotic fish tanks with a single sweep of his eyes, before approaching his wardrobe station.

Donning his Cerberus fatigues (Shepard had made a point of scratching out the emblems on the sleeves), he turned back to face Liara. She sat upright now, unable to rest, a pale robe wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled, but it was a halfhearted affair. Her eyebrows were knitted together in obvious worry.

Shepard waved his hands placatingly. "Relax. Everything's fine. Trust me." To illustrate this point, he approached her one last time, laying an affectionate kiss on her lips. With that, he turned to leave.

Liara watched the commander go, her expression downcast. As the elevator door shut with a pneumatic _hiss_, she whispered sadly, "I do, Shepard. Completely."

**SSV **_**Normandy**_** SR-2, Crew Deck, 0045 hours**

Mess Sergeant Gardner was first to see Shepard emerge onto the Crew Deck. The balding ship's cook paused in his work to wave genially at the commander. When a container that he'd just extricated from the pressure cooker (which might have been that morning's batch of corned beef hash) burst into leaping flames, he immediately regretted this lapse in concentration.

Shepard chuckled quietly, ambling casually up to the kitchen station. Gardner had taken to beating the flames with a towel. But since it was the same towel he used to wipe up the countertops, it contained enough grease that, rather than smother the fire, it simply ignited too.

Gardner cursed loudly, dropping the now-flaming cloth into the sink. Cradling his burnt fingers in one hand, he bit his lip momentarily. Something else in the sink seemed to have caught fire now, too, and the resulting flickering flow threw long shadows on the walls.

Suddenly, Gardner seemed to recall that sinks could be filled with water, and eagerly twisted the faucet tap. Unfortunately for the sergeant, the rising flames had heated the metal knob considerably. His previously uninjured hand sprung open, recoiling from the painful stimulus.

Even so, the resulting cascade of water doused the flames. Face screwed up in pain, Gardner still managed a smug grin at his victory over the kitchen appliances. But that was right before the residual fumes reached the overhead smoke detectors. A shrill siren sounded, causing both Shepard and Gardner to flinch.

The klaxon cut out abruptly, and EDI's officious tones sounded over the deck's intercom. "Fire detected in the kitchen area. Activating suppression system."

Shepard reacted quickly, diving away from the tiny kitchenette as though it were a time bomb. Gardner wasn't so lucky. He only managed to agitatedly wave his scalded palms at the ceiling cameras once, letting off a single, "_Don't_—" before a healthy dose of fire retardant issued from several concealed apertures. The mess sergeant was lost in a hazy purple cloud, and the stink of rotten eggs assaulted Shepard. Pinching his nose, he squinted through the shifting violet mass as the mist settled.

"Fire suppressed," EDI chimed dispassionately.

Gardner stood, affixed to the spot, a column of froth where his body had once been. His face was completely devoid of expression as he calmly shrugged piles of foam off his person. Evidently this had happened to him before.

Grinning wickedly, Shepard maintained his distance from the malodorous cook as he called out, "Bad day at work, Gardner?"

The sergeant sighed once, shaking his foam-topped head resignedly. Then, with a self-effacing smirk, he withdrew a mop and bucket from a nearby cabinet. "You should have seen this place earlier," he remarked snidely. "It was a real mess."

At a gesture from Shepard, Gardner took notice of the rather fabulous purple wig that now adorned his head. Wiping away the foam with a rueful grin, he said, "Thanks, Commander. Best head of hair I've had in years, I'm afraid."

"Are you sure you don't want some help with that?" Shepard asked kindly. To be honest, though, he didn't relish the thought of mopping up that titanic mess.

"Nah, it's okay," Gardner assured him modestly. "Why do you think I'm up this early? She does this to me every day. But I usually get it right before breakfast. See you around, Commander."

Shepard smiled, setting off down the length of the deck. Gardner was always good for a laugh.

Aside from Gardner and his one-man demolition show, the deck was eeriely silent. No one occupied the long dining table at one end of the mess hall, and the corridors were likewise devoid of crewmen. Doctor Chakwas had shut herself in the Medical Bay for the night. Everyone else was either on duty in the CIC or asleep in their bunks. EDI had dimmed the overhead lighting strips to simulate night, and by their faint light Shepard found his way to Starboard Observation.

Cycling through the hatch, he wandered aimlessly into the wide chamber. Alighting down a short flight of steps, Shepard keyed the starboard viewport to draw back. It did so in utter silence.

Thousands of stars were exposed, their pale radiance shining through the transparisteel. Shepard stood, bathed in the cool light of the stars. Occasionally, he could see a planet or a distant nebula streak by in a flash of color as the _Normandy_ made haste toward the rendezvous point. Even as he stood there, the Faster-Than-Light engines were working overtime to rocket the stealth frigate through space away from the Mass Relay, toward the classified location, and yet not a shudder disturbed the tranquility of the ship interior.

Countless thoughts, perhaps more than the stars that gleamed alluringly through the blackness of space, careened through Shepard's mind. He'd lied to Liara. Things weren't going well. Memories from Akuze tormented him, as visions of Lee and Carter's faces seemed to stare accusingly at him from out in the void. Toombs had survived, Shepard had learned years ago. Captured and experimented on, or rather tortured, by Cerberus scientists, he'd claimed when they'd met once again during Shepard's search for Saren. The Illusive Man had vehemently denied any culpability he might have had in the affair, but Toombs's ordeal had been one of the many reasons why Shepard had qualms about working with Cerberus.

Shepard knew Toombs would never forgive him for aiding the splinter group, and he would never forgive himself for abandoning him that night on Akuze. For years he'd believed Amanda's story, that Toombs had died on impact after tumbling from their escape shuttle. Now he could envision, with a sinking sensation in his stomach, what had really happened. He could remember Amanda glancing at her wristpad, and he recalled the green glow that had bathed her features as she said, "No. He's dead."

It would have been all to easy for her to modify the data when he'd asked to see it himself, changing the green readout to a virulent red. She'd done what she thought was necessary to save their lives. She'd lied to him, and left Toombs behind, because she knew that it would have killed them all to return. He hated her for that. But Shepard knew that Amanda had been correct, and for that he hated himself. Driven mad by guilt and remorse, she'd taken her own life after saving his.

What a waste.

Shepard had dwelled on this unhappy truth for many hours before. It was nothing new. And yet, as the old dreams returned, he found himself unable to get it out of his mind.

But he had other worries. When he closed his eyes against the glare of the innumerable stars, he could see, as if burned into his retinas, the monstrous silhouette of Harbinger, projected holographically to bar his path as he flew an asteroid into the Alpha Relay. The Reaper's final words seemed to resonate in his ears.

_Prepare yourself for the arrival._

And yet Shepard couldn't help but feel woefully unprepared. Even with the Alliance and the Council backing him, Shepard knew that they would need the assistance of the other races to combat the Reaper attack. But with the krogans decimated by the genophage while the salarians remained in full-support of maintaining the genetic scourge, and the perpetual war between the quarians and the geth, the task of rallying these old enemies to his cause seemed less and less likely with each passing day.

Shepard could only hope that this summit would provide the breakthrough he'd been looking for.

In silence, Shepard contemplated the stunning view. What might have been an hour passed. Brooding over what the geth could possibly want, the commander was vaguely aware of the sound of the entry door sliding open. Turning away from the myriad stars, Shepard found himself face-to-visor with Tali.

"What— Shepard?" The quarian female stood uncertainly across the room, twisting her long-fingered hands together in anxiety. He got the feeling she hadn't expected to find him here.

"Tali? What are you doing here?"

Tali pretended not to hear him straight away, instead glancing left and right with her hooded head. Shepard could make out, faintly, the bright eyes behind her tinted visor. Finally, Tali spoke up in a painful attempt to sound nonchalant. "Oh, me? Nothing. I just finished my work— that is to say, my shift. I was just… taking a stroll."

Shepard crossed his arms, angling his head skeptically. "Uh-huh. Right. Something you want to tell me, Tali?"

The quarian kicked the floor absently with an armored foot, suddenly taking an enormous interest in her birdlike toes. "Well, um, you're not normally here— I guess that you're already using this room." Tali was more tongue-tied than usual. "I'll just tell— I mean, I should probably—" She let out an exasperated groan, cradling her face in a gloved hand as though she'd just received a terrible migraine.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Shepard," Tali stated, although she didn't seem too pleased. "I should go." She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "Bye."

With that Tali about-faced, taloned feet finding purchase on the metal flooring, and took off back down the hall as though pressed for time.

Shepard took several steps forward, calling out, "Tali! Wait!" but she was already out of sight. Just as the door cycled shut once again, he could have sworn he heard lowered voices muttering out in the corridor.

The commander frowned marginally, and had just decided to run after her and figure out what was going on, when Joker's voice carried over the shipwide intercom. The helmsman had a talent for interrupting just when things were getting interesting.

"_This is your captain speaking. Please remain seated until I turn off the Fasten Seatbelts sign. Thank you for flying Alliance Airlines._" Shepard heard muffled chuckling over the comm. "_Christ, okay, okay. I'll tell him. No need to get your circuit board in a twist._" Then Joker was down to business. "_Commander, come in Commander. Seriously, Shepard, I need you on this channel_."

Shepard approached a comm terminal near the room's exit hatch. As he thumbed the activation button, he peered covertly around the door, down the hall. Tali was nowhere in sight. Strange.

Still, time to investigate that later. Speaking directly into the station's mic, Shepard answered, "I'm here, Joker. What's the situation?"

Joker's response was immediate, as the pilot spoke in his familiar lighthearted tones. "_I need you up on the bridge, Shepard, ASAP. We've got the rendezvous point in sight. Friendly ships hailing us. I've got the admirals on the line. Looks like they want to chat, but they won't talk to me. I guess this conversation is reserved for galactic heroes, or something._"

"I get the picture, Joker. I'm on my way up."

Shepard deactivated the terminal and strode purposefully out of the room. Making his way down the now brightly lit hall, Shepard ignored the curious heads poking out of crew quarters at the news over the intercom. Whisperings of, "We're there already?" and "We're at the geth meeting!" followed him as he went.

Before ducking into the elevator, though, Shepard glanced back into the mess hall. Sergeant Gardner was just wringing out his mop and re-heating the oven, unconcerned with the exciting events at present.

Shepard called out to him, "Sergeant! Did you see Tali run through here?"

Gardner glanced up from his work and lit a match on his apron. Hastily patting out the flames before he incurred EDI's wrath once again, he shouted back. "Sure did, Commander!"

"Was she with anyone—" Shepard began, but Joker cut him off once again.

"_The brass hats are getting jittery, Commander. Sooner the better._"

With one last pained glance at Gardner, who had proceeded to attack the smoke detector with his mop before it could pick up his smoldering apron, Shepard decided to let the issue drop for now. Boarding the elevator, Shepard selected Deck 2: CIC.

The automatic doors hummed shut.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have returned to you now, at the turn of the tide! Jack of Blades is back once again. And I've spent my long college-related exile well. I've got a fat stack of updates on my omni-tool, and I'll be releasing them every Monday night for your viewing pleasure. Thanks for reading, and please review! Your feedback keeps this story alive!**

* * *

**SSV _Normandy_ SR-2, Bridge, 0134 hours**

"Jeff, you have the admirals on the line."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know." Joker scowled slightly as he focused on manipulating the _Normandy_'s bridge controls. Nimble fingers danced across multiple holo-panels, dictating orders to the stealth frigate's Faster-Than-Light engines, which rumbled, fired and cooled in rapid succession, propelling the _Normandy_ through the ethereal planes where space folded in on itself. Bursts of brilliant color illuminated his universe; streaks of crimson, flashes of cobalt, and vortices of deepest indigo streamed past Joker's viewport like cosmic rivers raging in the silence of space.

_This_ was why he had become a pilot. Sure, flight checks and lubing the coolant system had their moments, but to glide through space, to _flow_ with the stars… It was a glimpse of eternity.

Of course, Joker never shared such poetic thoughts with others.

But the Alliance had taken away that chance from him. His whole life he'd been a cripple, a boy unable to walk on his own damned feet. An invalid. A nobody. Flying was his _life_. And once Shepard had died, the brass had been all too happy to stick a big old wad of red tape right through his heart.

He still resented them for that. And while he appreciated Shepard's nobility in rejecting Cerberus's friendship, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. They'd given him his legs, such as they were. That surgery cost more than any flight jokey made in a lifetime. And more importantly, they'd given him back his _wings_. So in the end, Jeff "Joker" Moreau wasn't exactly sure how he felt about jumping to the Alliance's aid now, when they'd finally decided to believe their crazy Ancient-Death-Machines-Are-Going-To-Destroy-All-Civilization-And-Ruin-Your-Day story.

But Joker was willing to put aside his petty grudges. _Still_, he thought, cranking up the rock music blaring over his earpiece, _The admirals can wait a few more minutes._

With a mad cackle, he weaved the vessel through the roaring currents of FTL space with ludicrous ease. He was a trained flyboy. He'd studied the quantum physics behind it all, and he could have left it to the autopilot and knocked off to spy on Tali and her new companion, but Joker preferred to navigate the ship himself. There was nothing in the universe like FTL flying.

Besides, he wanted to see it.

The moment came just as Shepard clambered over the threshold into the cockpit. "Right on time, Commander," Joker said, his eyes trained on a point in space just off the ship's bow. "Exiting FTL stream in four, three, two, _now_."

The multicolored aura shimmered once, twinkling majestically, and then suddenly cut with a painful finality to real-space.

Joker was almost sorry to see it go.

Almost.

Because in its stead appeared, set before innumerable stars that twinkled fantastic shades of gold, ruby, and sapphire, the largest fleet Joker had ever seen.

"My god," Shepard breathed somewhere over his shoulder.

"You said it."

Fifty thousand vessels, easy. Ten thousand titanic carriers thundered about, navigating carefully within the colossal herd. Lighter frigates escorted them, hovering protectively along the lengths of their hulls, at least two to a carrier. Schools of individual fighters darted fiercely about, trailing briefly illuminated ion tails. Their numbers were so great they seemed to rival the stars.

Some four thousand cruisers swam through space, their hulls, like all other geth vessels, curiously oblong, yet curved gracefully. They were composed of a heavy purple metal, adding to their bizarre, yet strangely intimidating, appearance. Small teams of these deadly ships grouped together throughout the fleet in impressive V formations.

A distant cluster of ships caught Joker's eye, situated along the far side of the armada relative to the _Normandy_'s position. If the other geth vessels were vaguely reminiscent of sharks, then these were positively tubular. Like massive tree trunks felled against the forest floor they appeared, and even at this distance Joker knew they were among the largest ships in the fleet. Further heightening the image of a plant, countless spearlike formations branched out from the main bodies of the geth ships. He'd never seen anything like it before, and he'd spent countless hours reviewing geth ship designs ever since their android allies released the information to the Alliance. This was something entirely new. They made Joker uneasy.

But his attention couldn't remain focused on the eerie vessels for long. Because something much more familiar, and much more frightening, drew his eye like a magnet.

Geth destroyers. Somewhere close to a thousand of them. Their lateral lines were dark now, but Joker knew from experience how quickly they could brim with guided lances of superheated plasma. He resisted the urge to engage the _Normandy_'s stealth systems. Not that it would do much good at this point. Those ships had seen them, and they came equipped with tractor beams. He'd seen one bisect the _Tokyo_ during the battle of the Citadel when it had tried to break free of its inexorable pull. Trying to fight one would be like trying to swim against gravity through the atmosphere.

Indeed, Joker's flashback almost caused him to forget the geth were now their allies. It was difficult to remember, when close to two thousand of those vessels had nearly destroyed the Citadel under Sovereign's command. They had almost lost that battle. If the Reaper vanguard had possessed the full might of the geth race, the battle would have lasted seconds.

But he was reminded of their newfound friendship by the presence of the remnants of the Arcturus fleet, the human armada that had come to the Citadel's defense in that very same battle. Admiral Hackett presided over it from his command vessel, the _Erebus_, an ivory mountain of titanium that doubled the size of a geth destroyer. And he wasn't alone, for with a flash of black light, a mass effect energy field parted five thousand kilos off the fleet's port, and through the wormhole spilled the Arcadia fleet.

Ten thousand Alliance vessels screamed through space, the collective glow of their engines blinding. At their heart approached another human dreadnought: the _Everest_.

Joker reflexively gasped. The _Everest_, and its commander, Admiral Conway, were the toast of the Alliance fleet. Not since the First Contact War had the both the _Everest_ and the _Erebus_ been brought together. They had been constructed in the final days of the war, for the sole purpose of defending Earth in the event of a last stand against the turian onslaught. Each was completely identical, from their twenty-five-meter-thick reinforced titanium hulls to their single fore-mounted energy cannons. It had been the _Erebus_'s cannon that had crippled Sovereign during the Battle of the Citadel. To bring both sister-ships to one location risked everything. If the geth decided to turn against them…

_The admirals must really be desperate._

As the _Normandy_ streaked through space, hurtling at a respectable speed toward the rendezvous point, Joker took note of the pair of swanky crimson war stripes that graced the flanks of the _Everest_ that were conspicuously absent on the _Erebus_. Evidently Admiral Conway had a flair for style.

All-in-all, the sight of the sixty-thousand-odd vessels encouraged Joker greatly. He wasn't sure of the size of the inbound Reaper fleet (not even the geth could assure them an accurate estimate), but no enemy could withstand the might of the Alliance-Geth armada…

_Could they?_

He shook the thought from his mind. There were other races. And perhaps most importantly (although he'd never take the credit himself), they had Commander Shepard.

Joker allowed his trademark smirk to creep across his unshaven features.

_We just might have a chance._

EDI chimed in. "Shepard, the admirals are ready to receive you."

The commander nodded, his expression unreadable. "Put them through."

There was a burst of static over the short-range comm as EDI refined their signal. Then, a husky, authoritative voice barked, "_SSV _Normandy_, this is the _Erebus. _Admiral Hackett here. Damn good to hear from you, Commander._"

"I'd hate to miss my own party, sir," Shepard replied lightly. But Joker saw a grim expression pass over the commander's face. Despite the awesome sight of what had to be one of the largest fleets in the universe before their very eyes, Shepard seemed to be lost in his own world. He absently fingered a set of dog tags that hung around his neck.

Joker couldn't recall having seen the commander wear those before.

"_Well, come on over, son. Now that you and Admiral Conway have arrived, we can get this summit started. I'm sending you a waypoint. _Normandy_, you are all clear._"

"Copy that," Joker replied. A small icon flashed on his viewport, designating their LZ as an airlock on the starboard side of not the _Erebus_, but the _Everest_.

Keying the comm to the OFF position, Joker whistled once. "Looks like we get to meet the great Admiral Conway, eh Shepard? Tell me, is it true they call him the Walrus, or was Gardner just yanking my chain?"

There was no response. Joker wheeled his custom-built chair around.

Shepard was gone.

**_Everest_-SSV _Normandy_ SR-2 Mutual Airlock, 0148 hours**

Shepard did his best to stand still as the fine antibacterial mist sprayed from hidden nooks in the airlock walls.

Shepard wouldn't have taken much notice of this before (he'd grown up on spacefaring ships), but recent events involving the system had left him extremely frustrated.

During the _Normandy_'s reprocessing upon its entrance to the Alliance fleet, the entire vessel had received a full service haul-out. Alliance technicians quickly discovered multiple relatively harmless revenge devices installed throughout the vessel by Cerberus in the event of the _Normandy_'s repossession. EDI had warned Shepard beforehand that this might have been the case. Most had been deactivated without incident, but Garrus received a nasty welt while helping dismantle a section of the engine core when a piece of heating duct had apparently_ bitten_ him.

But Shepard had a sinking suspicion that the Illusive Man wasn't to be outdone. While the airlock sterilizing agent had been odor-free before, Shepard could have sworn he'd detected the subtlest scent of strawberries. It was funny enough at first (although turians, as Garrus discovered while disembarking the vessel on the Citadel to procure some bite lotion, were violently allergic to strawberries), but the gag became tiresome very quickly. What was worse, whatever chemical had been added to the mist to simulate the smell was extremely resilient to soap and water. Garrus had spent the next two days in the airtight chamber previously constructed for Tali's hospitalization. It had taken the engineers a week to flush out the system completely, and another two to stop ribbing Garrus about it.

Shepard smiled at the memory, shaking his close-shaven head. Behind him stood Garrus himself, clad in a full vacuum suit. It was a habit he had recently taken a liking to in the airlock.

Liara rested her hands on a railing, drumming her fingers impatiently. Her blue features adopted an expression of boredom. Shepard understood her frustration. Everyone was interested to get to the meeting. But they were preparing to board one of the most precious ships to the entire Alliance cause, so certain protocols had to be observed. He knew from experience how quickly an airborne illness could spread on a vessel.

Tali had, of course, insisted on joining them as a representative of her race. Her visored face was, as usual, cryptic, although Shepard sensed by her body language that something was bugging her. Perhaps it was because the quarian Admiralty Board remained ignorant of this alliance. He made a mental note to check up on her soon.

Legion observed them all with his ever-rotating blue oculus, which took in the entire decon chamber in a single sweep. The geth had, if possible, grown less talkative since its initial announcement to the crew during dinner that, for the first time in galactic history, the geth Collective had invited another species to a war council, and that they were included. Joker had spilled coffee down his shirt. He still had burns.

Whatever Legion was up to, his constant communication with his race's governing body was evident by the sporadic chirps and warbles he emitted, indicative of FTL communication.

The others had elected to remain aboard, Thane due to the recent bounty placed on his head by Alliance officials and Mordin to assist Doctor Chakwas with Joker's last set of skin grafts.

"By the Goddess, how much longer is this going to last?" Liara inquired, exasperated. Her azure eyes met Shepard's, and he smiled benignly. The new decontamination chamber was supposedly more efficient than the Cerberus model (although the crew of the _Everest_ was really putting it through its paces now), and hopefully berry-free. It would take some time to get the calibrations right.

"It shouldn't be much longer," Tali said, glancing in Garrus's direction. "What do you figure?"

"We estimate approximately twenty-four human seconds remaining," Legion droned. Tali spared him an irritated glance. "We are anxious to ensure this antimicrobial substance does not corrode our circuitry."

That was the most they'd heard from the geth in hours. Glancing back at Legion, Shepard asked jokingly, "Want to look good for your friends, Legion?"

The joke was lost on the construct. "Shepard Commander?"

Garrus snorted. Liara chuckled quietly.

There wasn't much more polite conversation that could be made in a titanium box, so they rode out the remaining eighteen seconds in relative silence.

**Alliance Dreadnought _Everest_, Flight Deck, 0151 hours**

Shepard's first impression of the _Everest_ was its sheer, mind-numbing size.

The airlock was easily two meters in diameter. In comparison to the hull interior, it was a speck of dust on Joker's cockpit viewport. And that was just the flight deck.

Of course, the space was necessary. Row upon row of ship-to-ship fighters were locked in place, prepped for a quick launch through the titanic deployable blast doors along the Everest's lateral sides. The chamber was easily sixty meters tall, with a vast array of catwalks spiderwebbed across its higher reaches.

Flight personnel in orange vests milled about, some consulting omni-tools and helmet readouts, others scurrying between Dragon-class fighters toting fuel canisters. The air was filled with the sound of engines test-firing and engineers laughing and cursing in equal measure. It was through this mob that Shepard and his team worked their way, doing their best to remain inconspicuous. Of course, since the squad was composed of one galactic hero and assorted aliens, _inconspicuous_ seemed a tad ambitious.

"_Shepard!_" called out a commanding voice before they'd gone twenty meters past the airlock. Their procession came to an abrupt halt, causing an inattentive mechanic to crash into the unforgiving alloy of Legion's body.

While Garrus and Tali did their best to help the hapless soldier to his feet, the commander glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the voice.

He didn't have to look long. Clambering out of a lift that ran the entire height of the chamber, an Alliance officer, recognizable by his crisp navy blue uniform and accompanying commander's bars on his cap, raised a hand in greetings. Taking long, rapid strides toward Shepard's squad that left his aide panting to keep pace, the officer flashed a brief, artificial smile.

"Commander Shepard," he intoned, drawing the name out several syllables longer than was necessary. He snapped off a crisp salute, his bright green eyes examining each of Shepard's companions in quick succession. He appeared to focus on Legion for a fraction of a second longer than the rest, eyes narrowing marginally, but then he was all smiles, shaking each of their hands in turn.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Shepard. I've heard so much about you."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Commander…" Shepard replied, his tones pleasant but his expression stoic.

The officer's insincere smile widened. "White."

Shepard thought he had heard the name before, but he couldn't place it. "Good to meet you, Commander White." He took notice of the exhausted aide by White's side who leaned against a bulkhead, attempting to catch his breath.

"Oh yes," White commented dryly, glancing over his shoulder at his companion. "Shepard, meet Lieutenant Pruett." Pruett nodded politely. "Forgive him. He's spent the last five months in a VA hospital. Incendiary round to the lung. By all rights he should still be recovering, but the boy signed himself out as soon as the doctors would let him."

"What happened?" Shepard asked Pruett, but White spoke for the winded soldier before he had a chance to reply.

"Unfortunate training accident back on Luna. It seems an ensign got a bit too excited on the firing range. The lieutenant's rover was hit, and it slowed the round enough to save his life. Quite sad, isn't it?" White asked conversationally, but suddenly those acid green eyes narrowed once again. "When good soldiers die without reason?"

"Yes," Shepard replied gravely, his brow furrowed in confusion. What was White getting at? The other commander appeared to have a chip on his shoulder to go with his bars, and judging by the fact that he took little notice in his assistant, it seemed almost as if he had brought Pruett along for Shepard's benefit.

Fortunately, before either party had to address the awkward silence (Garrus's finger twitched toward the Avenger rifle slung over his shoulder), Pruett seemed to recover himself.

With a pleasant smile, the lieutenant, maybe a head shorter than Shepard, saluted once. Shaking Shepard's hand, he said in a somewhat hoarse voice, "Commander. Welcome aboard the _Everest_. Admiral Conway. Would like to extend his. Greetings." He inhaled deeply. "These are for you," he stated, tapping a quick command into his omni-tool. Shepard's corresponding device shimmered once to alert him to the transmission. "Meeting information," Pruett explained. "Starts in an hour."

"Yes," White enjoined happily. "What fun this will be, eh Shepard?" The eyes seemed to glance quickly at Legion, who was busy avoiding any further collisions with aircraft personnel. But Shepard blinked, and the commander was making full eye-contact once again. "This war council will be quite the show."

"I suppose so, White," Shepard replied tersely.

"Well, good day to you and your companions. I'd best see to it that everything is in order for the admiral's conference."

Neglecting to salute this time, White turned on his heel and marched back the way he'd come. Entering the lift, he punched in a series of commands into the elevator interface, and was lost behind a descending metal grille.

Pruett remained, and he appeared to have gotten his wind back. "Sorry, Commander," he apologized, "But I wanted to deliver my full message to you without Commander White present."

"Any idea what his problem is?" Shepard asked casually. He racked his brains to recall where he'd heard that name before.

"No idea," Pruett answered plainly. "He just jumped at the chance to come with me when he heard I was delivering you a message. Which is why I gave you that other one. Didn't think the captain would want White overhearing it. She doesn't trust him." Glancing over his shoulder, he added in a low, conspiratorial voice, "Can't say I blame her. Regardless, she would like to meet you in the starboard loading bay. That's two flights down, sir." He saluted once, and turned to leave.

Shepard was lost now. "Wait," he called out. "The captain?"

"Captain Hannah Shepard, sir," Pruett responded, puzzled. "She said you'd know what this was about."

Shepard felt his stomach plummet. _Oh no, I couldn't have. Not again…_

But he had. He'd forgotten to contact his mother after his perilous mission against the Broker. Just as he had upon his return to life several months ago. It had just slipped his mind.

"Damn," he cursed quietly, shaking his head. "Well, thanks, Pruett."

"My pleasure, Commander," the lieutenant responded, exiting up a loading ramp to the catwalks above. Even already he'd begun to wheeze slightly. Within moments he was out of sight.

Shepard turned to face his team. Garrus wore an expression of mild amusement.

"Care to back me up?"

"Oh, this from the man who kept the strawberry jokes alive for a week?" The turian sneered in good humor. "I think I'll pass."

"Right," the commander replied, rolling his eyes. "Tali, you've studied this ship's schematics pretty well. Mind leading the team to the briefing room?"

Tali's head quickly snapped in his direction. She seemed to have had her thoughts elsewhere. "Oh, erm, sure." Gesturing halfheartedly toward the party, she said, "This way. I'm sure Security will want to look Legion over a few times before we're allowed in."

As the rest of the group departed, Liara hung back briefly. "Are you sure you want to go alone?" she inquired, eyebrows arched quizzically. "I've met Captain Shepard before."

Shepard smiled ruefully. "It's alright. I'll handle this." Liara seemed to release a breath she had been holding. It was no secret Shepard's mother terrified her.

"Well then, I'd better make sure those soldiers don't dismantle Legion," Liara replied, returning a brilliant smile.

"I'll see you soon, Liara." There was more he wanted to say, but a crowded loading bay was not the best place. And multiple technicians were already glancing in their direction.

And she was gone, her blue figure retreating through the crowd of Alliance personnel, who parted to give her a wide berth. Several of the men paused in their work to stare. Shepard supposed this was how all human males reacted toward asari.

Or maybe it was the biotic energy that swirled around her fist when one flight technician tried to strike up a conversation. It was a close call.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for your patience! Just got back to my PC. Enjoy the update, and please, read and review! I'm loving your feedback! Every word means the world to me! Thanks a million!**

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**Alliance Dreadnought **_**Everest**_**, Loading Deck, 0216 hours**

The ensign was certainly taking his sweet time.

Eyeing Shepard distrustfully, the stocky soldier glanced between the commander's face and an electronic clipboard clutched in one of his armored hands. In his other he hefted the full weight of a Storm SA-R assault rifle. He probably figured it made him look impressive, but Shepard knew that even a krogan needed to keep a firm grip on the powerful rifle, or its jarring recoil would do more damage to the roof than to an enemy.

Okay, maybe not a krogan.

The commander frowned marginally, breathing deeply through his nose, before exhaling with an audible _humph_. This was getting ridiculous.

But the ensign paid him no mind. Apparently he was under orders to be as thoroughly irritating as possible. That or he was up for a promotion. To make a long story short, he'd subjected the commander to a battery of tests. Blood, voice analysis, retinal scans, serial number; all of that and more had been carefully appraised and fed into that blasted tablet. They'd been there for ten minutes now, and Shepard's patience was running short.

"Okey dokey, Commander," the soldier intoned insipidly, at long last stowing the dreaded device. "Seems you are who you say you are." He seemed a tad put out by the fact that Shepard wasn't some sort of Reaper infiltrator.

Of course, the commander knew that wasn't the Reapers' style. Why infiltrate a single room when you could just glass your enemies to subatomic dust? They were rather predictably fond of the whole _shock-and-awe_ routine. Death, destruction, orbital lasers, legions of the dead, a robotic monotone voice. Sovereign had found infinite amusement with that old bag of tricks, and Harbinger had proven to be no different.

The ensign waved him forward, now eager to be rid of the commander. "Move along now, sir. Don't dawdle."

Shepard resisted the urge to slug the boy and merely shouldered past him, _accidentally_ knocking him into the wall. The commander smiled faintly as the soldier stumbled, dropping his clipboard as he hurriedly grasped the bulkhead.

"Sorry," Shepard called over his shoulder, stepping through the pneumatic doorway as he smirked. "My bad."

His lighthearted mood didn't last for long. Within an instant of crossing the threshold into the loading bay side chamber, Shepard was aware of the sound of a hatch sealing behind him.

The room was dim, sparsely lit by scattered fluorescent lighting strips inlaid into the floor and ceiling. The deep navy blue carpeting that covered the floor added to the overall darkness of the chamber.

Shepard shook himself. For an instant, he had been reminded of the absolute blackness of the Shadow Broker's Inner Sanctum, where everything had almost been lost. It had been just him and Liara against one of the single most powerful organic beings in existence. And while their skills had undoubtedly won the day for them, Shepard was all too aware of how large a role luck had played in their victory. It had always had a hand in everything the commander and his squad did, from defeating Saren to destroying the Collector base. Feros, Noveria, Illium, Tuchanka. Luck had even been involved the first time Shepard had ever met Liara, as they'd escaped a crumbling subterranean Prothean dig site (with Tali and Garrus in tow) at the last possible second.

_Okay,_ Shepard acknowledged to himself. _Luck was _especially_ involved then._

But for all of their daring escapades and mad escapes, Shepard had to wonder: when was that luck going to run out? For him? For his friends? For the galaxy?

He didn't like to think about that.

The commander was called out of his daydreaming when his eyes, quickly adjusting to the low light, discerned a figure shifting in one corner of the room. Years of training and field experience screamed at Shepard to unholster his sidearm, but he repressed them. It wouldn't do to go waving about his weapon onboard an Alliance dreadnought. Not when meeting with a superior officer in a secure environment.

Besides, a drawn gun wasn't the best way to greet one's mother.

"Commander," she called out, her clipped tones as elegant and as menacing as always, with just a splash of amusement. There was weariness there, too. The war hadn't even begun, and it was already taking its toll.

But she didn't show it. Stepping into the faint light, Captain Hannah Shepard did the Alliance uniform she wore proud. Upright and noble, she moved with a grace and measure befitting her stature. Her slim features were a mask of indifference, calculating and formal, but her eyes (Shepard's eyes) twinkled roguishly.

"Captain," Shepard replied, his smile wide. It was a relief to see her alive. Word had reached him of the recent pirate raids on Alliance vessels. "I'm glad to see you fared well. Those batarians are ruthless."

Hannah smiled reflexively, but her eyes darkened slightly. "I wish the same could be said for some of my crew. Two of my men were casualties."

"You could have sent me word that you were alright," Shepard said in an undertone, as though afraid someone might overhear his concerns. His words were accusatory and, slightly, hurt.

"There was no need," the captain asserted nonchalantly, clasping her hands in the small of her back. "We both had more important things to do."

"Even so," Shepard growled, "I wish you had."

"I could say the same," Hannah quipped, her tone somewhat cold. Leaning forward informally, she went on. "What was I supposed to think, when the Council tells me your ship—"

"Captain," Shepard breathed.

"—your _Cerberus_ ship violated the sanctions on the Mu Relay, going off to God knows where! And then we get reports that the Shadow Broker is dead? Have you any idea how worried I was?" Her expression was suddenly livid, her lips pressed in a grim slash of pent-up frustration. "He was _dangerous_!"

"I thought we could handle him," Shepard stated plainly. "We did."

"You could have asked for help. The Alliance isn't without resources."

"I couldn't risk anything getting leaked," he hissed defensively.

"You couldn't risk _trusting me_?" Hannah sounded genuinely wounded now.

Shepard winced. "Look, it's over now. We had everything under control."

"That's not what Joker tells me." A look of triumph crossed her sharp features. "That's right, your little flyboy reports to me now. He's scared silly of me." A wicked smile flashed. "About time he got some sense," the captain added pointedly.

Shepard, not for the first time, made a mental note to give Joker a piece of his mind the next time he saw him. "Like I said," he answered calmly, "It's over."

"Oh, don't patronize me, John!" she snapped, and suddenly Shepard felt fourteen years old again. "I was _scared_. And you know what? Not just for you! I was worried sick about you, and Liara, and even that stupid pilot What's-His-Name!" An expression of true anguish broke across her face. "You're all I have left."

Her last words seemed to echo for a moment even in the heavily carpeted room. Shepard shifted uncomfortably under her imploring gaze, averting his eyes briefly. The tension was palpable.

"Mother—," Shepard began, abashed, but she raised a silent hand to stop him.

Hannah Shepard seemed to release a breath she'd been holding. Screwing her eyes shut, she drew herself up to her full height once again, resting a palm on her temple. There was silence for a moment. When she spoke, it was clear she was making every effort to remain professional. "Forgive me, Commander. I've always hated unnecessary risks, that's all. Especially since your father died."

Shepard felt an invisible knife pierce his heart. Indeed, judging by his sharp intake of breath it seemed as though he was in actual pain.

Captain James Shepard had died commanding the _Houston_, one of the doomed Alliance refugee ships that had worked to recover colonists from worlds contaminated by Element Zero tanker explosions. These were the same orbital disasters that resulted in biotic children in a small percentage of a population, and terminal cancer for the rest. It was dangerous, thankless work, and Shepard's father had performed his duty for the nine years following the First Contact War.

Then, one day, on some small backwater colony world that Shepard couldn't remember the name of, a particularly violent eezo explosion took place. The _Houston_ was first on the scene, accompanied by a handful of Alliance vessels. The contaminant was spreading quickly through the atmosphere, and the vessel's designated biohazard holding cells were already full up. Other ships were a day away. In that time any hope of saving the remaining civilians would have been lost. And so James Shepard did the only thing he could have done: he ordered his engineers to construct makeshift chambers, with only hours to spare.

One of the survivors said that the crew raced to action, determined to rescue the victims. Countless more chambers were built. Frames were welded. Precautions were taken. The last of the colonists were evacuated.

And in spite of everything that they had done, for all the right reasons, all it had taken was one small leak on Isolation Tank B-93. The _Houston_'s fellow vessels succeeded in their mission. Their captains went on to receive medals. Shepard had received his father's in a box.

Shepard remembered his father's long battle with eezo poisoning. Watching his hair fall out, his organs fail, his veins darken as the invisible killer worked through his bloodstream. All of this from behind a glass wall. When Shepard's father had died, the closest they could come was to lay their hands on each side of the window.

**Sol, Luna, VA Hospital, Eezo Wing, Twenty-One Years Ago**

He still remembered.

"_Hey buddy_," he says, his voice ragged and weak.

"_Hey Dad._"

"_Who's my big man, huh? You giving your mom too much trouble?_"

"_No._"

A smile. A brief glimpse of his whole, healthy self. "_Stay strong, John. You hear me? Hey. It's okay. Don't be ashamed._"

"_I'm not crying_."

"_I know you're not. You're such a strong boy._"

"_I don't want you to go, Dad._"

For the first time, James is truly pained, but not by his condition. "_No. Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere._"

"_But the doctor said—_"

"_I don't care what she said._" A bought of violent coughing."_You listen here, now. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here. _Right here. _With you._ _And no one can take that away. Now, do you understand?_"

"_Yes, Dad_."

More coughing. Somewhere, a machine chatters. Men in rubber suits rush in. James sinks to his knees.

"_You take care of your mother now, do you hear me?_" That smile. That wonderful smile that makes it seem as if everything is going to be okay.

"_I will._"

The doctors pick him up, begin to pull him away. James fights to hold his son's gaze. "_I'm so proud of you, John! You're going to be great._"

"Dad!"

They take him away, away to try in vain to extend his failing life. The machine screams. James's breath comes in short gasps. "_Don't you worry about me, John! I'll always be there! Always! Daddy—_"

And he's gone behind an unfeeling metal door.

The longest silence in the universe.

"_I love you too, Dad._"

**Alliance Dreadnought **_**Everest**_**, Loading Deck, 0224 hours**

He was only conscious of holding her close. And for once, Captain Hannah Shepard returned the hug. There was a prolonged silence between them, but not as it was before. Now it was peaceful, and sad. So very sad.

"Don't you worry about me," Shepard said, suddenly feeling like his own father. "I'm not going to let anything happen. To anyone."

The captain nodded and, after another moment, drew away from the contact. She seemed to have lost a week's worth of sleep, but her smile was honest. "I know."

For a while they sat together, talking about this or that. How Liara was doing. If Tali was back to full strength again. Whether or not Joker had gotten around to shaving that perpetual non-regulation five-o'clock-shadow of his (Shepard felt it best to lie in this case).

Eventually, Hannah seemed to become aware of something. Glancing upward toward the shadowed ceiling, she sniffed experimentally. "John," she asked, feigning indifference. "Do you smell… strawberries?"

The commander cursed under his breath. _Must have gotten used to the scent_.

Eventually their conversation turned to more serious matters. The war effort. The admirals' plans to fully police the Mass Relays within two months. "That Conway's a genius, you know," Hannah commented idly. "Spends hours in conference every day. Some of the plans he's drawn up… I can't even wrap my head around them. When the old Walrus heard about this summit, he insisted on attending. Hackett was nervous, of course, about bringing so much of the fleet into uncertain territory, but he's always been a bit of an alarmist. Still," she began, whistling. "I didn't expect for him to bring in the whole Arcadia Fleet. Of course, the _Midway_ was on call too. It's in dry dock on board the _Everest_ right now. They're implementing some of the upgrades they discovered on your _Normandy_. Not all of them, mind you. We're not as stinking rich as that _Cerberus_ of yours." Her expression grew a bit sour here, but it passed after a moment.

Shepard decided not to rise to the bait. "So," he began, beating around the bush. "What's this about a 'walrus?' Something about Conway I should know?"

Hannah laughed. A genuine laugh. The laugh of a woman without a lifetime of responsibility weighing her down. "He," she began when she'd recovered herself, but she only threw her head back again once more. "My apologies," she said at last, gasping for air. "He— that is to say, I— I'm sorry, John. I just can't do it justice. You'll have to see for yourself."

Shepard frowned slightly, puzzled. "Very well," he replied, resigned to wait it out until the meeting. Then, hoping to extend the discussion, since he rarely got such a chance to chew the fat with his mother, he inquired casually, "So, what's the story with Commander White?"

Unfortunately, this question had the opposite of its desired effect. Hannah's expression fell slightly. She pursed her lips in mild distaste. "Oh, him. I imagine he was giving you and Liara trouble?"

Shepard hadn't been expecting _that_. "_Liara?_" he began, floored. "No. Should he have?"

"I'm surprised he didn't," the captain noted, arching her eyebrows in that way that reminded Shepard of childhood scoldings. "He's a fierce xenophobe." She seemed to reflect on this for a moment, brow furrowed, before asking spontaneously, "Who else was with you?"

The commander quickly reviewed the roster in his head. "Garrus, Legion, Tali—"

"Wait a moment," Hannah commanded. "Legion? Your geth?"

Shepard nodded.

"That would explain it. The only thing he hates more than aliens are geth."

Now that Shepard thought about it, White had seemed overly preoccupied with the geth construct, glancing at it now and again. It made perfect sense now. Despite the recent alliance, human animosity towards the machine race was still rampant throughout the ranks.

Shepard recalled his mother's own reaction towards Liara several months ago, and examined his new knowledge about White. "So tell me," Shepard stated, "I've been out of the Alliance loop for a while. Just how bad is the nonhuman sentiment?"

The captain shrugged, reclining in her comfortably cushioned seat. "It runs fairly deep with the more senior officers. First Contact War veterans, hell, even veterans today. We're not exactly chummy with the turians, are we? And the asari are almost as bad. The batarians? Forget about it. People get divided along these lines all the time, John. I wouldn't say I _hate_ the aliens," she added defensively, sensing John's train of thought. "But they haven't exactly gone out of their way to make us feel welcome."

"Because of the War?" Shepard asked, seeking clarification.

"Well, _yes_, mainly," Captain Shepard explained flatly. "They fired first in the War. That's what it boils down to for most people. Us versus them." Here her expression darkened, as it usually did when she was bothered by something. For an officer, Hannah was exceptional bad at concealing her emotions. Shepard wasn't sure if this was a help or a hindrance to her. "For others…. Well, let's just say we have personal reasons."

"Like Dad?" Shepard asked quietly.

"Oh no," Hannah replied, although her eyes briefly fixated on a point in the distance Shepard couldn't see. "I don't blame them for your father's death, although many people in the same situation do. It was a salarian eezo rig that blew. But asari medicine kept him going as long as he did, and if I look that deeply to find fault, John," the captain mused, "I might as well hate the universe.

"No, if I had to say what made me hate the turians," she snarled, "It would have to be Jack Harper."

The name didn't ring a bell for Shepard. "Harper?"

Hannah seemed to come out of a trance, glancing at her son distractedly. "Yes, yes. Jack Harper. Went through Basic Training with him. He was sweet on me, I think, but I didn't feel the same. But he was still a good friend. He introduced me to your father, actually. I think they were… second cousins?" She looked to Shepard for confirmation, but since he had no idea what she was talking about, she just shook her head and moved on.

"The three of us were as thick as thieves. We were on the front lines of space travel before we made contact with the Council races. James pulled some strings and got us all assigned on the same vessel: the _Orizaba_. Jack applied for N7 candidacy. He was our best man at our wedding. Handsome fellow," she recalled, chuckling once. "Looked great in a suit. James always said it was a shame Jack was a soldier. Said he'd make a great mannequin." She smiled as memories returned to her that she hadn't considered in years.

"Then we made contact, and the demand for space marines and pilots went through the roof, as you can well imagine. You were only three or so at the time." Hannah rose and began to pace, hands folded once again, as she did her best to recall events.

"The conflict only lasted three months, but you should have seen it, John. Chaos. Complete chaos. Religious fundamentalism went wild. The papers were printing stories about the possibility of extinction. Some people were considering surrender to the turians at any cost." Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "But not Jack. He went out of his way to preach about the necessity of the war. Donated every last cent of his wages to the Alliance. If anyone was going to kick the turians to Kingdom Come, it was him."

Shepard was beset by questions. As a general rule, his mother rarely discussed life prior to his father's death. Now the floodgates seemed to have opened. "Before it was over, Jack was called away on an N7 mission. Top-secret. Still don't know what it was about. When that file is declassified in eight more years, I'm first on the list to read it. Anyway," Hannah said, "It went wrong. Something involving a Council Spectre is all we know. Long story short, Jack was taken captive. And that's the last I heard from him." At Shepard's inquiring glance, she stated tersely, "Ever."

"And the turians didn't release any information about him after?"

"It was during the final days of the war," Hannah went on, waving his question aside. "The turians were in disarray too. They were preparing to fend off a possible attack on their homeworld, Palaven. Admiral Conway was just a captain then. Another of his brilliant ideas. Things were hectic on both sides. By the time the Council sued for peace, ten thousand humans had been captured and shipped to turian POW camps. _Ten thousand_." She sighed. "So many good people. Of course, we recovered most. Some were in body bags. And we took our fair share of turian prisoners too. But by far, the record for prisoners-of-war Missing in Action lies on our side. The turian war leaders got sloppy by the end. Didn't document everything very well. We're still finding unmarked graves to this day."

"But no Jack," Shepard stated simply. All at once, he thought he could begin to understand his mother's pain and distrust of the other races. It couldn't change his own views. He would always see a brother in Garrus. As for Liara… she was everything to him. But he could appreciate the great lengths his mother went to in order to accept his friends, and this new geth Alliance. Men like White hadn't even tried.

For a brief moment, Shepard wondered who White had lost, and his dislike for the man abated. If only for a moment.

"No," Hannah answered simply. "No Jack."

A third silence descended on their strange little reunion. This time it was interrupted by another. The doorway to the meeting chamber slid back with a whisper-silent _hiss_, and the stocky ensign stepped through.

Sparing Shepard a sullen glance, the soldier then turned his attention toward Hannah. "Captain Shepard, ma'am!"

"Yes, Golding?"

"Orders are just in from Admiral Conway, ma'am!" Golding shouted. "The Council has begun."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: As you can tell, I have moved back my update date. I will still be updating every week, multiple times if possible, but the dates will be staggered. This is to accomodate my limited access to my PC, as well as to ensure I will complete this story before the release of ME3.**

**Look forward to my next chapter, the conclusion of Act One!**

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**Alliance Dreadnought **_**Everest**_**, Grand Briefing Room Antechamber, 0257 hours**

"Please check all weapons with Lieutenant Pruett, Commander. We don't want any accidents in the Council chamber. The same goes for your companions." Shepard caught a brief glimpse of White's fierce green eyes as White spared a contemptuous glance over his shoulder at their small congregation. The other commander seemed, if possible, even more venomous than during their previous encounter.

But even with the brevity of White's fleeting look, Shepard was certain he could see the Alliance officer's green eyes flash between Garrus, Legion, and Liara. His perpetual scowl deepened marginally.

_Looks like she was right,_ Shepard thought to himself. White couldn't stand aliens. In truth, however, Shepard was glad his mother had gone ahead of their group into the council chamber with the other high-ranking officials. She would not have tolerated any lip from White, and Shepard wanted to enter the meeting as quickly as possible. Thrashing the commander, however tempting the idea was, wouldn't exactly endear him to the admirals. And he needed their support now more than ever.

However, he did his best to remember what else his mother had said, about the xenophobia rampant in the senior officer ranks. Shepard felt a twinge of pity for the older man. But just how much older was he? Judging by the frown lines that scarred his face and the faint circles under his eyes, he was maybe fifteen or twenty years his elder. So short a time, even for humans, and especially brief when compared to the centuries-long lifespan of the asari. And yet few soldiers of Shepard's age reflected quite the extreme level of alien-hatred as White's generation did. He silently counted his blessings. Shepard was a good man, but he wasn't certain that he would have been able to love Liara as he did growing up during the First Contact War. And without the assistance of his closest friends, like Garrus and Tali, he most certainly would not have prevailed against Saren, let alone the Collectors. The Reapers would have already won.

But while the commander felt some measure of sadness for the bitter White, he possessed an equal measure of anger towards him, and a sense of defensiveness toward Liara against such discrimination.

Shepard didn't let it show on his face, though. "Whatever you say, Commander," he responded tersely. "You heard him, guys," he called out to Garrus and Tali, who seemed hesitant to part with their firearms. "His house, his rules."

The commander approached Lieutenant Pruett, who stood behind a chest-high reception desk. His gaunt face appeared unhealthy in the ambient orange light of the security station's display, and without a doubt part of that appearance was genuinely due to his recent hospital discharge. But the soldier maintained a degree of professionalism at all times.

"Place all firearms in the bin, please," he instructed in a monotone voice, indicating a recess in the desk wall. Reluctantly, Shepard unclipped his sidearm from his dress uniform's holster and inserted it into the cubby. It was his only weapon. For appearance's sake, the rest of his one-man arsenal was safely stowed with his N7 gear aboard the _Normandy_. It wasn't really an issue. They were aboard the greatest friendly vessel in the galaxy, after the Citadel. Maybe friendlier, since the turian councilor did live on the latter.

Besides, Garrus was packing enough heat to take down a cadre of Blood Pack troops. He didn't believe in appearances.

A glass screen slid down over the entrance to the miniature cave, separating Shepard from his trusted Phalanx pistol. An amber light strobed once, and the compartment slid out of sight, to be replaced by an identical one, sans pistol.

Although he understood the necessity of it all, Shepard nevertheless winced slightly at the loss of his weapon. He couldn't recall the last time it had been further than three feet away from his body. He felt distinctly naked without its reassuring grip close at hand. But swallowing his apprehension, the commander nodded calmly, gave Pruett a kind smile, and backed away from the console, allowing Tali forward.

Once the quarian female had surrendered her own sidearm and, with only a moment's pause, her geth plasma shotgun, it was Garrus's turn. If Shepard had had a difficult time parting with his gun, it was nothing compared to the turian's experience. While he handed over his handgun without issue, he was loath to part with his sniper rifle, which he cradled lovingly until Pruett coughed exaggeratedly. This got his attention, but it took a sharp elbow from Tali to convince Garrus to abandon his beloved gun.

He seemed to breathe easier after that, and attempted to make small talk with Pruett, grinning inanely with his scarred mandibles. The lieutenant wasn't convinced. After trading stoic stares with him, Garrus finally sighed and extracted a seven-inch serrated combat knife from his shoulder holster, depositing it with a great show of reluctance.

The lieutenant still wasn't convinced. At this point Shepard cracked a wry smile, leaning against a partition and shaking his head disbelievingly. This was going to take awhile.

One by one, Garrus brought his hidden armory into view. A stun grenade concealed in his wide turian collar. A real grenade (this merited a few curses from both Pruett and White) from his left boot. Another knife from his right one. A garrote wire took some coaxing to pull free of his sleeve. Three more pistols and a submachine gun emerged from various hidden compartments in his suit. In short, he was as well-armed as Thane, if perhaps a bit less inventive in where he stashed his lethal contraband.

When the last grenade had been stowed, Garrus appeared to wilt a little, drawing back from the desk. But this time Shepard had a sinking suspicion, and, before the turian could shout out, delved into his left pocket.

"Ah, come on Shepard—" he pleaded, but it was no use. A two ounce hunk of M5 plastic explosive was plopped on the desk, thankfully free of a blasting cap. Liara's eyebrows arched in quiet surprise. Tali spared the turian an admiring sidelong glance.

Garrus hung his head, abashed. "Sorry," he intoned, bright eyes twinkling mischievously. "Forgot it was there. Honest."

Shepard scoffed skeptically. Pruett, a faint sheen of sweat plain on his brow, carefully hefted the charge and disposed of it in an entirely different container behind his desk.

Garrus retreated, crestfallen. Tali slung an arm over his armored shoulder reassuringly. He seemed to perk up quickly.

After that, things proceeded much more smoothly. Legion and Liara quickly relinquished their own sidearms, Liara with the added promise that she wouldn't use any biotics inside the chamber. Pruett then ushered them toward White, whose expression bordered on barely concealed distaste, assuring the lot of them that their weapons would be returned to them after the meeting (with the exception of Garrus's bomb, which was to be incinerated). With that, Shepard and his team made after Commander White, who keyed a twenty-two-digit code into an electronic pad beside the entry hatch.

There was the sound of six-inch diameter tumblers retracting into the vault-like door. Then, without any further prompting by White, the pneumatic hatch hissed open.

**Grand Briefing Room, 0312 hours**

The Council Chamber was impressive, Shepard had to admit that.

From where their small party stood a wide chamber bulbed outward, its impressive Grade-A titanium bulkheads soaring overhead in a great cupola. The tiered floor rose in high steps toward the walls, so that those furthest away from the central dais sat at the greatest elevation, perhaps some twenty meters up. Every square foot of the floor was furnished with the same elegant navy blue carpeting that Shepard had seen in the Loading Deck floor manager's office. Admiral Conway must have liked the design.

Speaking of the famous officer, Shepard wasn't entirely certain where the admiral was in the crowd. Officers, for all their earliness, seemed to have neglected settling down until now, and were only just making their way up the handsome teak stairs to their seats.

The reason for their delay was obvious as the crowd began to thin. Upon the central dais, surrounded by the highest-ranking officers and a vast array of holographic display panels inlaid into the floor, was a small delegation of geth.

That had to be a first, allowing geth onto an Alliance vessel. At approximately two meters tall, the hulking androids were most impressive to behold. Their shining ice-blue eyes scanned the room rapidly, their vaguely flashlight-shaped heads swaying to and fro as they attempted to analyze all of the stimuli around them. Evidently the geth were just as bewildered by humans as they were by the machine race.

Legion's head-flaps rose in an expression of mild excitement at this sight, and he emitted a brief series of stuttering noises as he seemed to greet his fellow geth platforms by FTL communication. Shepard's suspicions were confirmed with the other machines' eyes swiveled directly toward his team with eerie precision. Legion's friendship aside, Shepard suddenly missed his sidearm. Memories of Eden Prime didn't fade quickly. _Maybe that's why Conway had had the foresight to confiscate everyone's weapons,_ Shepard realized. White wasn't the only one in the crowd whose glances toward the geth amounted to more than idle curiosity.

"Shepard Commander," the lead geth stated, its faintly cobalt-hued armor-plating reflecting the overhead lights. "We meet at last."

Shepard worked his way through the crowd, more than one head having turned in their general direction at the mention of his name. Shepard quietly hoped that the curiosity didn't arise because of his mental history. He recognized some of the senior officers from his psych panel among the masses. Liara walked beside him, with Garrus, Legion, and Tali striding purposefully in tow. Together they were an impressive sight.

The commander was conscious of more than one set of eyes gazing at Liara in mild to severe surprise. Human relations with asari were usually of a fleeting sort. Something as permanent as what they had together was not within the norm. Not for an Alliance officer, at least.

He didn't care, however, and paid it no further mind. Shepard instead preoccupied himself with trying to place the various faces that he saw as he approached the central platform. Some were ambivalent, others blatantly curious, and still others skeptical. The friendly faces were few and far between.

But that wasn't to say they weren't there. Shepard recognized Commander Thomson of the cruiser _Paris_, and Captain Stark, Hannah Shepard's replacement as commander of the _Orizaba_.

Thomson was maybe two years his elder, a veritable star among the ranks thanks to her commendable actions during the Battle of the Citadel when her CO was incapacitated. She'd protected Zakera Ward almost single-handedly until Sovereign had sealed the station. She had remained so long to defend it that her vessel had barely cleared the Citadel's closing arms. She spared Shepard an alarmingly wide grin. That reminded Shepard of the other thing he knew about her: she was the biggest flirt in the ranks, too. The admirals were willing to look the other way because of her commendations, but rumors got around.

Liara took a step closer to Shepard, her eyes flashing dangerously toward the crowd.

Stark merely nodded professionally, his expression grim. Prior to Captain Shepard's promotion to commander of the _Orizaba_, she and her son had lived aboard it as she served as first the ship's navigations chief, then its senior gunnery officer, and finally its second-in-command. All the while Stark had been one promotion behind her. He was a decent man. Shepard knew him well enough from his teenage years aboard the Alliance vessel. He was glad to see him get the recognition he deserved.

At last their procession reached the central podium, and Shepard had to stop himself from reflexively extending his hand to the lead geth. He then had to bite back his first greeting of _Hello. What's your name?_ It had taken them weeks to get Legion to answer to his name promptly, even with all of his advanced processing power. The geth simply weren't wired that way.

Instead he merely said over the low rumble of the audience, "Good to see you."

The geth inclined its head marginally, and replied in its characteristic warbling speech. "We originally intended to conduct this meeting entirely by Faster-Than-Light communication. We deemed it more efficient. But your Council assured us that a face-to-face audience would assist your programming in comprehending our message."

Shepard wasn't sure if he should be offended by that statement, but he played it safe. "Thank you. We won't waste your time."

The geth angled its head slightly, its shining oculus studying his face intently. "Shepard Commander, we process thoughts at a rate approximately two point seven million times faster than most organic species. We are afraid inefficient time-allotment is inevitable."

Shepard smiled knowingly. Geth were extremely awkward in casual conversation. You had to learn to take comments that would have been considered insults from any other race in stride. Sometimes the truth could be brutal.

"Understood. Let's get this meeting started, then?"

"Indeed. Admiral, do you have anything to add before we begin?"

It took Shepard a moment to realize the geth was talking to someone else, partly because the sentient machine maintained an intense focus on Shepard's face while it spoke, and partly because Shepard was still trying to imagine thought at two million times its normal speed. Speaking to geth invariably caused headaches.

But a sudden movement to the geth's right caught Shepard's attention, and he broke eye contact with the android emissary to see who it was addressing.

And even though Shepard was a Spectre, and therefore not strictly answerable to the Alliance brass, he still felt the urge, born of years of regimented training, to draw himself to attention.

Admiral Conway.

Here was a man of legend. Enlisted in the Alliance navy at eighteen, years before space travel was going anywhere, Conway had been through the First Contact War and every major alien skirmish since. He wasn't particularly tall. Maybe six inches or so shorter than Shepard, but he made up for his lack of height with an undeniable air of strength and dignity.

The Morpheus tri-phasic handgun strapped to his side didn't hurt, either. Evidently nobody had worked up the courage to ask for his pistol aboard his own ship. Smart move.

His face was noble, and had aged well, apparently without the assistance of plastic surgery, as Shepard had known other aging officers to resort to. His bushy red eyebrows were drawn together in curiosity over a pair of grey-blue eyes that twinkled merrily. His hairline had begun to recede slightly, but he made no effort to conceal his grey-streaked head with a cap, another favorite trick of captains and admirals.

But what really caught Shepard's attention was the rather spectacular walrus mustache that adorned the admiral's face, which was currently twisted in a friendly grin.

_So that's why they call him the Walrus._

Shepard snapped off a crisp salute, which Conway returned gladly.

"Admiral Conway, sir! Commander Shepard, reporting for duty!"

Conway nodded solemnly. When he spoke, it was in a measured, deep voice that reminded Shepard irresistibly of Santa Claus. "I don't believe I've had the privilege of meeting you, son."

Shepard remained bolt-upright. "No sir. It's an honor."

Conway emitted a sort of low, rumbling chuckle. "At ease, Commander," he drawled, patting Shepard on the shoulder in a paternal fashion. Then, using the gesture to mask his movement, he leaned forward slightly so that only Shepard (and Liara, thanks to asari's excellent hearing, but this was most likely unintentional) could make out his next words. "There's something seriously wrong with this galaxy if men like you have to answer to old coots like me." He spared the commander a merry wink.

Shepard was taken aback. Conway was about as different from the regimented and, frankly, uptight Hackett as wolves were from varrens. Same function, but vastly different appearances.

As though sensing his thoughts, Hackett bowed into the conversation, disentangling himself from a knot of geth that had been previously unaware of his presence. Lacking nerves, tapping them politely on the shoulder had little effect.

The other admiral granted Shepard and Conway two salutes in quick succession, which they returned (the admiral's understandably more relaxed than the commander's). Hackett's gaunt, perpetually grim expression remained characteristically unchanged. "Admiral, Shepard. Perhaps we should put the pleasantries aside for now and allow the summit to begin?"

Shepard nodded. "Agreed. I'm eager to see what the geth have to show us."

"As are we all," Conway added, sparing the geth a casual glance that suggested they were not in the least way extraordinary.

"I'll get us started then," Hackett decreed in his gravelly tones.

The admiral turned to face the center of the massive auditorium, removing his cap as he did so. At an unbidden cue, the lights dimmed appropriately, casting the audience in shadow. The only source of light remained affixed directly overhead, a gentle glow that reflected off of Hackett's snow-white hair in an eerie manner.

A podium rose on a hydraulic lift beneath the metal tiles, and Hackett took his place behind it. Tapping his collar once, he spoke, his words resonating throughout the chamber.

"Ladies and gentlemen, officers, I formally welcome you—"

"We should probably sit down," Conway muttered. "Damn shame. I hate sitting. Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work, eh?"

"But my team—" Shepard began, glancing over his shoulder to where moments before Liara and the others had stood. They were gone.

"They'll be taken care of. I promise. Someone wanted to see them. You too, actually, but I'm afraid I couldn't write you a hall pass just now. Certain _parties_ want you on the stage for morale and publicity purposes." The aging admiral rolled his eyes and gave a jerk of the head toward Hackett's back.

"Alright then," Shepard acquiesced. "Let's get this over with."

"My thoughts exactly."

Conway steered the Commander toward the far rim of the twenty-meter diameter dais. A row of luxurious seats, upholstered with fine purple cushions, was situated in a semicircle behind the podium. Shepard was mildly surprised to find the Council present, if only in holographic form. Their ghostly presences flickered slightly as they reclined in their own chairs on the Citadel.

The asari and salarian councilors did not seem to pay him any mind; they watched Hackett deliver his introduction to the summit with rapt attention. The turian councilor's head appeared to flick in annoyance in Shepard's direction as the commander took a seat to the ghost-salarian's left, but it might have been a glitch in the projection.

Councilor Anderson was there in person, garbed in his best dress uniform, but he too seemed engrossed in the speech.

Conway settled into his cushion with a slight groan, and Shepard recalled that, for all of his reputation and strength, the man was pushing eighty years old. That was one hell of a track record for an officer. Most retired at sixty-eight.

He certainly was a tenacious man, Shepard had to admit that.

That left a seat open for Hackett upon his return. The last five or six chairs at the end of the row were empty, presumably having been placed for the geth delegates.

"We weren't certain if they actually _sat_ anywhere," Conway chatted idly to the commander, apparently at ease under the scrutiny of several hundred officers. He did, however, make an effort to keep his voice down, if only out of respect for Hackett. "But we sure as hell didn't want to offend them if they did. Interesting, isn't it, having these geth all around?"

"—and I would like to thank the Council and the geth delegation for attending—"

"I wouldn't know sir. I've had a lot of experience with geth."

"That's right," Conway mused happily. "You have one of your own there. Must come in handy in a tight spot."

Shepard did his best to appear interested in Hackett's rambling prologue. "Legion is one of my finest crewmembers. And a good friend." He made it clear in his tone that he didn't see Legion as some inanimate object.

Conway didn't appear phased. "Indeed," he said, stroking his mustache pensively. "They will certainly prove to be valuable allies, of that I'm certain. The Reapers… they're going to be tough to beat."

"Sir," Shepard began, this time returning the admiral's subtle sidelong glance, "May I be frank?"

"Sure," the admiral replied. "I'll be Ted."

Shepard's eyebrows arched slightly, but he decided to ignore Conway's bizarre sense of humor. "The Alliance is backing the plan now. Ever since the geth revealed themselves to your battlegroup a few months ago."

Conway didn't reply. His expression was now unreadable, and he seemed to pay great attention to the back of Hackett's head.

Shepard wasn't deterred. "I know most people didn't believe my story until then, sir. I just want to know—"

"If I believed you?" Conway finished calmly.

Shepard let his silence answer for him. Hackett droned on in the background.

The admiral sighed slightly. "Most people didn't. Some said you'd lost it, some called you a liar. Your mother believed you, and no one could fault her. She's a damn good officer. I could respect her for that."

He made direct eye contact then, his expression somber. "I won't lie to you, Shepard. Others will, make no mistake. Personally, I thought you were a few rounds short of a thermal clip. And I'm damn sorry I did. It's our fault for ignoring the evidence until it was right in our faces. We were all living in denial."

Those grey-blue eyes narrowed in conviction. "But believe me, Shepard. I'm behind you now. One hundred percent." Conway gave Shepard another conspiratorial wink. "Don't doubt it for a minute."

Shepard decided to take him at his word. "Thank you, sir." He had to admit, he was growing rather fond of Admiral Conway, even with his quirky manner of speaking. "So, has the Alliance prepared any campaign plans?"

"I—" Conway began, raising a finger to illustrate his point, but he quickly glanced toward the podium.

"—which brings us to Admiral Conway," Hackett finished. Shepard wasn't certain, but he could have sworn he heard a collective sigh of relief from the concealed audience.

"Why don't you listen up and find out?" Conway replied, rising with only a slight effort and ambling over to where Hackett stood.

He clapped the thinner admiral once on the shoulder in a brotherly gesture, taking up his place behind the stand. Tapping his collar with the tip of his index finger as Hackett had done, Conway spoke to the assembly as Hackett settled into his own seat.

Conway seemed to contemplate the audience for a while. When he did speak, it was with the weight of years of experience and authority.

"The Reaper threat," Conway began, his expression steely, "Is entirely real. Of course, we know this know, thanks to Commander Shepard and our geth allies. But the time it has taken us to _recognize_ this threat," he lectured, his tones critical and authoritative now, "May have cost us more than we know."

A chill seemed to run throughout the room. Even the Councilors, billions of light years away, seemed to shift in their seats uncomfortably. Conway was an effective orator.

"As you can see here," Conway directed in his amplified voice, "Dark Space borders our entire known universe." He made a wide gesture toward an expansive holographic map that swirled over his shoulder. Countless tiny white lights shimmered, swirling about the galactic core that glowed a dull orange. The admiral seemed to stand in the heavens.

Multiple markers denoted the positions of major population centers, as well as all Mass Relays. These shone a brilliant blue, save for one, near the 'southern' region of the map. This was tagged in an angry red hue. Shepard's heart fell to see it.

"Tuchanka," Conway stated plainly. "Serrice. Palaven. Sur'Kesh." He paused for effect. "Earth. All of these worlds and hundreds more are within two Mass Relay jumps from any given Relay along this region." His finger skimmed the bottom of the map, coming to rest on the red-marked Relay. His finger tapped it several times.

"The Alpha Relay," he enunciated, his eyes panning back and forth as though he could see every last member of the crowd. "This was the closest Relay to Dark Space. This was the Relay," he intoned, gripping the podium, "That the Reapers almost accessed just a few weeks ago."

Whether or not Conway intended it for its shock and awe value, he pulled up a massive holographic representation of Sovereign to replace the galactic map. Shepard's skin crawled to see the Reaper vanguard again. Its vaguely squidlike body sprawled menacingly overhead.

There was a rush of sound throughout the chamber as the audience broke into hurried whispers. Conway let the chatter continue for a few seconds, then silenced them all with a wave of his hand.

"Your alarm," he went on, "Is justified. While we cannot celebrate it, because it cost us three hundred thousand batarian lives, the destruction of this Relay forestalled the Reaper advance. I cannot and will not go into the details," he said firmly. "And while this is a tragedy, and while we will ultimately be answerable to the batarian Hegemony, this has bought us an unforeseen advantage.

"This advantage comes in two parts: one, we are now certain that the Reapers will have been stalled for another few months, at least. Two, this gives us a chance to predict where they might strike from."

Here he stepped backward to accommodate the cobalt geth. At first the geth platform did not respond, not recognizing the signal. Conway motioned for it to step forward. Again, it did not respond. Body language was not a geth's strong suit.

Had the situation been a bit less serious, Shepard might have laughed.

At last the admiral stated clearly, "Geth, please come forward and begin your presentation."

That did the trick. Taking measured steps that struck the floor with a mechanical _clack_, the lead geth approached the podium. It made no attempt to use it, and merely delved into its own lecture.

"Our Collective," the geth warbled in its synthetic tones, "Has thoroughly analyzed the Reaper threat utilizing our knowledge from schematics from the Heretics' prior alliance with Nazara, or Sovereign as you may know it." It angled its head slightly to the left, glancing at Shepard where he sat. The commander resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat as he felt every eye in the room follow the geth's gaze.

"Shepard Commander's experience with a derelict Reaper, reported by our mobile platform," the leader plowed on, "Has proven most enlightening for us. We are pleased to report to this summit that we may have discovered an inherent weakness in Reaper designs."

There was an outbreak of hushed whispering amongst the officers. The asari councilor leaned forward in her seat in interest.

Shepard was intrigued as well. _A weakness?_

"It is a commonly known fact," the geth emissary said neutrally, "That it required the bulk of the Alliance's Arcturus fleet to disable and destroy the Reaper Nazara. We have extrapolated from battle records that it will require an average ship-to-ship breakdown of sixteen-to-one to defeat Reapers in space battle."

"And how many are there? The Reapers?" a voice shouted from the crowd.

The geth responded with brutal efficiency. "We place their numbers somewhere between ten and twenty thousand."

Shepard could sense the despair of the officers at this grim pronouncement. Several cried out in terror.

Conway called for order, but the geth seemed at ease. "You are right to be distressed. Combining the current resources of the Collective with our Alliance and Council allies, our total fleet numbers at approximately two hundred and forty thousand vessels, not nearly close enough to the three hundred and twenty thousand required for any hope of victory in traditional combat."

As always, the geth were displaying their remarkable ability to cause sheer panic with statistics.

"Didn't you say you had a weakness for us?" Conway coaxed gently, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation.

"Indeed," the geth replied with a cheerful affectation. This quieted the crowd, slightly, but it wouldn't last for long. "We have discovered that the Reapers, while they are incontestably superior in space combat, are capable of being disabled from within by destroying their central core."

Whispers of excitement stole throughout the room.

"How would we manage to board the Reapers in the middle of a battle?" Anderson asked, his dark brow furrowed in deep thought.

If possible, the geth actually seemed excited. "That is the purpose of our calling this meeting," it explained, its shining eye widening. "We have developed a new ship design dedicated to combating the Reapers in this fashion."

"But you just said that we can't beat them ship-to-ship," the asari councilor reminded the geth, her expression upset.

"Correct, not without further reinforcements, which are unlikely considering the ideological conflicts between our allied races and other non-Council species, or the lack of a standing fleet possessed by otherwise sympathetic races, such as the krogan," the geth elucidated. "However, this vessel is not designed for space combat. It is designed to board Reapers."

The geth waved a mechanical hand through the air in a grand gesture, stuttering to its companions briefly. It occurred to Shepard that Legion was no doubt taking part in the FTL conversation, too.

Suddenly, a vibrant hologram shimmered into place. It was one of the bizarre ships that Shepard and Joker had seen entering the Alliance-Geth fleet that resembled a felled tree. Up close the vessel appeared even more strange, each tubular branch terminating in a series of pods.

"Individual soldiers can be launched, via the propulsion tubes," the geth clarified, "Into the Reaper bodies. The hardened external carapaces have speared ends capable of penetrating certain weak points along a Reaper hull, which we have isolated. An electromagnetic pulse generator can disable a Reaper's shield long enough to allow the pod to impact. With our advanced timing systems, we estimate a seventy-percent pod survival rate. With that it is a matter of the strike team working its way through an individual Reaper and detonating its element zero fuel core. The resulting explosion would destroy the Reaper.

"But what about indoctrination?" the salarian councilor called out, voicing Shepard's unspoken concern.

The geth paused briefly. Then, explaining it as though it were the simplest concept in the world, it stated, "Our own geth, being immune to organic indoctrination, would gladly volunteer for such service."

"But they'd die," Shepard replied reflexively, realizing that he'd just spoken up in the conference for the first time. The concern was evident in his voice.

For the first time the cobalt geth seemed taken aback. It considered Shepard for several seconds before stating, "We all have sacrifices to make."

Shepard was touched by that, and he wasn't sure how to respond. He was saved by the turian councilor, who inquired simply, "What do you call this ship?"

"We call it the Geth Extravehicular Mass Unit Dispersal Vessel."

The turian snorted. Shepard was visited by the sudden desire to throttle him for disrespecting the geth's sacrifice. "That's a bit wordy, isn't it?"

The commander was about to tell him off for picking such a pointless argument, but the asari councilor was quick to remedy the situation. "We are just asking if you would like to call it anything else?"

"We would like to call it the Geth Extravehicular Mass Unit Dispersal Vessel."

The salarian councilor rested his face in the palm of his hand. "Could you limit it to only a few words, please?"

"We were unaware six words constituted a strenuous phrase for organics," the geth stated. Shepard had to fight a smile.

"_Two words_, then, if you would be so kind," the salarian stated.

Anderson chimed in. "You must understand, we have to sell this idea to the public once the news of our alliance breaks. They're going to need something like this to inspire them not to give up."

The geth paused once more. It appeared to consider its clawed foot, vaguely reminiscent of a quarian's, then stated, "We would like to call it the geth Seeder."

That seemed to satisfy the politicians.

With that the geth settled back into their insular group towards the center of the central platform. Their head flaps rose as they continued their discussions in private, no doubt at dizzying speeds.

They were going to make excellent allies.

Conway rested his arms behind his back here, his expression grave. He made his way toward the podium once again. "You will all be forwarded the latest Alliance patrol routes. Take note that we are pulling out all guard forces surrounding the Perseus Veil and the Terminus Systems."

"But the Terminus Systems—" someone cried out in the crowd.

"We can no longer afford to think of these systems as our enemies. We can no longer afford to have _any_ enemies, except the Reapers!" Suddenly Conway's fist struck the pedestal with violent force.

There was dead silence throughout the chamber.

"In case you haven't noticed," Conway went on, "We are going to be fighting a war for the very survival of organic life. _All of it_. As a species we have always been creatures of war. It has shaped our history, our society. For better or worse." He pursed his lips briefly.

"But now, we have to discard all concepts of traditional warfare. If we lose we aren't conquered. We don't revolt again in ten or twenty years. We lose _everything_. We go _extinct_."

Shepard could sense that Conway was building toward his big finish. "We are going to have to work together. No more politics, no more reservations. You've seen the efforts our allies are making to aid us in this fight. There is no turning back now. We need to band together, not just with ourselves, but with all the other races. As many as will join us. We either fight, to the last man, woman, and child, or we die. Period.

"That is why the Alliance," Conway stated with a great finality, "Must formally merge with the Citadel Council and the geth Collective. We must become the Galactic Alliance."

Shepard was stunned.

Uproar. That was what he expected. Total mind-numbing sound. But instead, there was only silence. Conway's words didn't seem to have sunk in yet.

After what seemed like minutes, there was a sound. And strangely enough, it wasn't cursing, or shouting, or people storming from their seats. It was a strange sound. Like static. It built up slowly until it filled the room, until it reverberated through Shepard's bones.

It was _applause_.

Thunderous applause assaulted the dais, and Shepard thought he could discern through the harsh overhead lights the sight of people rising to salute the admiral.

Hackett rose as well, his expression, for once, slightly smug. The Council did likewise, their expressions triumphant. Evidently this news was no surprise to them.

Shepard clambered out of his seat, making his way toward Anderson. He beamed at Shepard, clapping him on the shoulder.

"How did you manage this?" the commander shouted over the din.

"How do you think?" Anderson replied. "Conway's all but God to the Alliance! He just had to seed a couple insiders in the audience to applaud on cue! Why do you think he added that bit about extinction? Put some fear in people's minds, and they'll go to the ends of the earth for you! Add a little blackmail and a threat of treason to the ones who might cause trouble, and you're golden!"

Suddenly Shepard found himself laughing. _No wonder White was so sour._

His mind was racing at the possibilities. This was it. The first, decisive step that the galaxy had taken toward stopping the Reapers.

But Shepard remained skeptical. As Conway and Hackett dealt with the throng of crazed officers, shaking hands and instructing guards on crowd control, he had to ask, "And what about the civilians? The politicians back on Earth? Terra Firma won't stand for this."

"A State of Emergency supersedes all that!" Anderson's eyes gleamed manically. "We only need to kick people into shape until the Reapers arrive. Shepard, this is exactly what we need!"

Before Shepard could reply, the asari councilor called for order. Her magnified voice brought the chamber to silence within moments.

Once the din had settled down, she was accompanied by her fellow councilors. Anderson gave Shepard a thumbs-up and joined her as well.

"The Council would gladly accept this honor," she announced, her blue features made slightly gray by the transmission.

"As would the Collective," the cobalt geth added, standing at the head of its companions.

"Then it's settled!" Hackett decreed. "We will address the technicalities later."

"Then I suppose this meeting has come to an end—" the turian councilor started, but the asari cut him off.

"Not quite. Commander Shepard? Please come forward."

Shepard's expression was one of mild curiosity. Stepping toward the ghostly Council and Anderson, he was reminded of his initiation as a Spectre over two years ago. How much things had changed since then.

"Yes, Councilor?"

She smiled kindly. "In order to symbolize the unity of the galactic races in this endeavor, I would like to appoint another member to your vessel, which is perhaps the most diverse within our entire fleet."

That was interesting. He was hesitant to take on any new crew members, but his concerns could wait until they were out of the limelight. "Councilor, I would be honored."

The asari nodded. "Then allow me to reintroduce you to the asari's chosen delegate. Justicar, please step forward."

Out of the shadows to Shepard's right stepped an asari clad in traditional scarlet battle-armor. Her head fringe was adorned by an elegant decorative circlet engraved with the runes of the Justicars' Oath. Her wise features came to light, and Shepard's face broke into a smile as he recognized one of his most trusted friends.

"Samara!" he called out, stepping forward to greet her.

"Commander," she replied, her tone dignified but her expression equally pleased. "I am honored to represent my race as a member of your crew once again."

There was so much for them to catch up on, but Shepard was reminded that there was still ceremony to attend to when the turian councilor stated, in the sour tone he typically adopted when addressing Shepard, "The turian race recognizes Garrus Vakarian as a suitable representative because of his distinguished Citadel Security career." For obvious reasons, the councilor made no note to the public of Garrus's subsequent stint as a vigilante on Omega.

"After conferring with the Elders of Sur'Kesh on this issue," the salarian councilor added, "We have agreed that former Special Tasks Group member Dr. Mordin Solus will suffice as our representative."

Shepard was elated. Not only by Samara's surprise return, or the formation of the Galactic Alliance, but because, for the first time in weeks, he felt that they might have a fighting chance against the Reapers.

"Thank you, Councilors, for your kind gesture—"

"Ah, Commander," Anderson reminded him politely. "I believe I haven't made my appointment yet."

Shepard nodded professionally. "Of course, Councilor Anderson."

The former Alliance captain gestured in the direction from which Samara had come. "As a representative of the human race, I, Councilor David Anderson, appoint Second Lieutenant Ashley Williams to the crew of the _Normandy_."

Shepard felt his stomach drop. Seeing her, rising onto the stage in her trademark Phoenix light armor, brought back a tidal wave of emotions for Shepard. There was happiness at seeing her again, the last surviving member of his original squad on Eden Prime. There was anger and resentment, too, because of her refusal to join his crew during their reunion on Horizon. And there was fear. Fear because of the many unresolved feelings between them.

But more than anything else, Shepard felt the relief of seeing an old friend again. A friend that had known him before he as the famous Commander Shepard. A friend who had experienced the pain and the guilt with him when he'd chosen to rescue her that fateful day on sunny Virmire.

He met her dark eyes, and he knew in an instant that when she closed them, she too could see that garden world blossom in fire, consuming their closest friend.

Slowly she walked across the stage. Pausing two feet before him, she spared him a curt salute. He returned it unconsciously, his mind now far away, focused on a different adventure, with a different foe.

If seeing Samara again had thrown him, this left the commander without a clue how to proceed. Why had Anderson done this? Was he trying to reunite the old crew? As much as Shepard would have liked that, without Kaidan he always knew it would just be a sad mockery of the team of the _Normandy_SR-1.

Then it occurred to him that he should say something.

"Hey Ash."

"Hey Skipper."

Four words. Four words that might as well have been spoken a lifetime ago.

The rest of the world was oblivious to Shepard's struggle. Virmire, the destruction of the _Normandy_, Horizon, none of it had happened for them. For Shepard, being reunited with those few, special people from the old days always left a bitter taste in his mouth. It warmed his heart, then tore it out.

With that, Conway cleared his throat, silencing the idle chatter that had picked up during the awkward reunion on the dais. "Well then, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that concludes this summit. If anyone has any questions, we will be holding further meetings in my office at oh-eight-hundred—"

A terrible, high-pitched choir of stuttering and chirping sounds grated on their ears. It sounded as though a Reaper had perched itself on the hull of the _Everest_ and was determined to rip it in two.

Shepard and the rest of the assembled organics turned towards the group of geth. He hadn't noticed it, but Legion had joined their ranks. They glanced hurriedly between each other, chattering nonstop. Their eyes rotated agitatedly in their sockets as they stumbled, confused and genuinely _panicked_.

"Legion!" he called out, racing forward and bracing the geth to keep him for tumbling to the deck. "What's going on!"

The geth's eye seemed to see him for the first time. "Shepard Commander!" Legion cried out. "We have made a grave miscalculation!"

"What is it, Legion? What's happened?" Even as he said the words Shepard felt ice water rush down his spine at the possibility. _A Reaper attack? Now?_

Legion spoke in the customary monotone voice of the geth, but Shepard could sense its fear.

"The Creators have noticed our absence! The Migrant Fleet has attacked Rannoch!"


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I've finished it. Enjoy. Next chapter soon. Read and review!**

* * *

The shot comes out of nowhere.

You gasp in agony as the biotic blast impacts directly on your chest plate, your shields and shock-resistant N7 vacuum suit barely dissipating the full force of the shot. Your ribcage feels as though it will crack under the strain like a vorax nut in a hanar's strangling grip. Your ears pop with an almost comical sound, admitting a horrible, keening whine into your skull that does not abate. Stars dance in your eyes as your vision flickers, threatening to collapse into shadow.

The thought is… comforting. But you resist it, barely. It takes all of your strength to draw air back into your winded lungs. Your body remains on autopilot, years of drilling with your weapon enabling you to fire it with pinpoint accuracy even as this internal conflict plays out. You empty the thermal clip at the hole in your vision you're certain he's hiding in, and although you feel the recoil of your weapon jolt up your arm, all sound is muted and dead.

You feel it before you ever would have seen it; that telltale static in the air as he draws mass effect energy into his fist once more for the finishing shot. You'd leap to safety, but your legs seem to like it just where they are. Garrus can't help you. The last volley already sent him sprawling down the steps. He's unconscious, or worse.

The ringing in your ears starts to subside. A trickle of thought finds its way into your shell-shocked brain, screaming at you to run. Your right leg twitches, but that's it. Your vision manages to recover enough for you to notice that blood is pooling in your eyes from the gash in your forehead.

He speaks.

"_I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it in time, Shepard."_

A pause as he no doubt savors his kill. That electric chill runs up your spine now.

A flash of blue, but it's not another blast. That comes milliseconds later, tearing through space directly overhead, dark energy arcing about a mass effect core.

But first, Liara tackles you.

That does it. You suddenly remember what you're fighting for. You can see enough to recognize her azure eyes, wide with fear and concern. She got the least of the impact, but the bruise on her right eye and the indigo blood that wells from a cut on her cheek indicate that she didn't escape unscathed. You smile for an instant, regardless. You both take cover behind a massive titanium planter.

"_I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!" _you shout over your shoulder, weapon at the ready. You blink furiously to clear your vision.

"_I am a vision of the future, Shepard. The evolution of all organic life. To resist is futile. The Relays will activate, the Reapers will return."_

The Elder tree overhead, maybe three centuries old, erupts in black fire.

You wince reflexively. _"We can still stop this! Stand down and the invasion will never happen!"_

He calls out once more, this time a note of desperation plain in his gravelly tones. _"No! We cannot stop it, not forever!"_

Liara shouts over the roar of the flames, _"Surely some part of you must realize this is wrong!"_

A pause, heavy with fear and despair.

"_Maybe you're right,"_ he mutters to himself, hope creeping into his words. _"Perhaps there's still time to… to—"_

A scream, like glass on steel. Like the winds of Akuze. The howling of the Thresher Maw. You risk a glance around the base of the planter, its surface pockmarked with impact craters like the dark side of the moon.

He thrashes violently, barely maintaining his balance on the hover-platform. His clawed hands jerk involuntarily toward the base of his skull, but gravity seems to intensify upon his fingers the closer they come to the cybernetic implants.

You swear under your breath. You had hoped it hadn't gotten this far.

He seems to realize it too. The Reaper's shadow now lays almost entirely over his consciousness. Even for contemplating betrayal, he is punished.

_"The implants,"_ he explains once the seizures fade. _"Sovereign is too strong. I'm sorry, Shepard. It is too late for me."_

There's no way you can survive a direct assault on a Reaper-cyborg. Not pinned down like this. You can see only one way, one faint hope for survival.

Just like Akuze. Do or die.

And although your instincts scream at you to stay put, you drown your fear as best you can…

And step out from cover.

Liara screams for you to stand down, rises to try to pull you back, but you push her away. She doesn't understand. She wasn't there when you touched the Beacon, or when you first spoke with him. As much as you hate him, hate him for the pain he's caused, the friends he's killed, the worlds he's burned, you know that you understand each other perfectly, as only true enemies can.

He won't kill you. Not while he retains a sliver of his old self.

Not yet.

"_There's still a way out!"_ you cry, although even you aren't certain if it can work. _"You can still redeem yourself!"_

The thick black smoke spilling off of the ruined tree clears slightly, just enough for you to see his face. His features are torn in mortal agony, grey skin cut where the cybernetic implants have begun to burn through in a hideous spider web. His eyes shine a murderous blue.

But at your last words, for an instant, the evil light fades. For a moment, a peaceful expression comes over him.

He smiles.

"_Goodbye, Shepard. Thank you."_

Then, before his brain can process what it's doing, he presses the muzzle of his pistol beneath his chin. He shuts his eyes for the last time.

A flash of light, and the weight of entire worlds is lifted from his shoulders.

Saren tumbles from his glider like a puppet with cut strings.

He falls forever.

**SSV **_**Normandy **_**SR-2, en route to Rannoch, Crew Deck, 0634 hours**

Shepard jolted upright, hand reflexively snaring his Phalanx pistol, ready to fight.

It took him a moment to realize that it was just another dream. Not of Akuze this time, but of the Battle of the Citadel. Saren was long dead. There was no danger.

The commander became dimly aware of his surroundings. Judging by the long bench he sat upon and the smattering of goulash on his face where he'd rested his head against the table, Shepard realized he had simply fallen asleep in the galley.

Pausing to wipe Gardner's latest meal off his nose, Shepard quietly considered everything that had happened. The Council, the quarian attack, the dream. Strangely enough, the dream worried him far more than the tumultuous events preceding it. It hadn't bothered him in months. Just like his nightmare from Akuze.

_Am I losing my mind?_

Indeed, he was finding it more difficult now to switch off once he awoke from these horrifyingly vivid nightmares. A constant sense of dread hounded him for hours. He was finding it difficult to function at all now, the memories were so vivid.

Shepard was starting to notice a pattern in the dreams, though, with each nightmare another dark chapter of his life. He wondered how long it would be before he relived Kaidan's death, or the destruction of the _Normandy_.

He shuddered, tossing aside his grimy napkin.

Resting his head in the palms of his hands as though afraid it would split open without support, Shepard mused to himself, _This needs to stop. It's over. Akuze. Virmire. All of it. There's worse to come. I can't afford to lose it now._

_I've got people worth fighting for._

The commander was just contemplating raiding the refrigerator behind Gardner's kitchenette (he had a suspicion that Garrus stowed his turian brandy behind the C-rations) when a faint _a-huh_ caught his attention, just over his shoulder.

Resisting the irrational urge to unholster his weapon and doing his best to keep his growing paranoia in check, Shepard glanced toward the source of the sound in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

Tali stood maybe two feet away, tapping the heel of one taloned foot against another as she always did when she was nervous or afraid.

Shepard didn't have to ask why.

"Take a seat, Tali." He gestured kindly to his immediate left.

She hovered uncertainly for a moment, her expression inscrutable as always beneath her amethyst visor. After a brief pause, she nodded solemnly, settling onto the bench.

All at once she seemed to crumble, her tense shoulders slumping in resignation, while her masked face contemplated the whorls of the wooden tabletop forlornly.

For a while neither of them made to speak. Then, sensing that he was going to have to guide Tali along here, Shepard prompted, "It's not going to be a problem, you know."

"I know," she replied morosely, but judging by the way she crushed her own fingers, she was anything but certain.

With a relentless optimism completely unrepresentative of his current mood, the commander went on. "The Council convinced the geth fleet to hang back. Same with the Alliance."

Tali didn't respond, only wringed her fingers further.

Shepard frowned marginally. "We're going to explain the situation to the Admiralty Board. They'll understand."

Suddenly Tali exploded. "No they won't, Shepard!" she shouted, slamming a gloved fist on the counter and rising defiantly. "We've been in exile for _centuries_ because of the geth! We lost our homeworld, were forced to become nomads, and we haven't breathed a breath of fresh air since!" Her voice cracked as she began to sob, collapsing into her chair.

Between her heaves, Tali cried, "This suit… it's a _prison_, Shepard."

Shepard suddenly felt three times his own age as the weight of grief, the grief of a species, pressed itself down upon him. He felt trapped, claustrophobic, unable to move either out of exhaustion or resignation.

_This must be how Tali feels all the time._

"Hey, come on," he reassured her softly, extending an arm in consolation.

That was all the invitation she needed. Tali hugged the commander fiercely, shaking all the while. Her arms, for all of their spindly qualities, were alarmingly strong.

Her masked head resting against his shoulder, Tali said nothing more for a long while. Shepard made no attempt to engage her in conversation again, only patted her back in a manner he hoped was conciliatory.

_How did it come to this?_

She was right, of course. For all of Shepard's hope in proposing this plan, he feared the worst. The geth reports indicated that the quarians had already begun saturation bombing of Rannoch's surface, targeting what geth outposts they could locate. It had taken extreme persuasion on Shepard's part to convince the geth to not remotely activate the planetary defense grid and blow the Migrant Fleet out of the sky.

This was a battle the quarians were determined to fight, and it was one that somebody had to lose. With the geth as their official allies, Shepard could understand Tali's distress. If she helped her people, she would betray her closest friends and further the Reaper's cause. If she aided Shepard, she would turn her back on her own race.  
There was really nothing he could say to help.

After a while she spoke. "I… I know we're doing the right thing Shepard. We need the geth. But…" she shook her head fiercely. "Every bit of me is screaming that this is _wrong_. I was raised on the Migrant Fleet, Shepard— raised to _fear_ geth, _hate_ them with all of my soul."

She drew away, her bright, somber eyes faintly visible behind the clouded visor. "When I was a little girl on the _Rayya_, living in a bubble and breathing dead air, my father told me stories. Stories about Rannoch. Our _home_. He promised me that one day… one day we'd take it back. I used to dream about it. Clean wind in my hair, sun on my face. It's all we want, Shepard."

Tali breathed deeply, as though she could taste that crisp morning breeze. Then, in a low, sullen voice, she growled, "And I know what we did to the geth was wrong. Enslaving them. Abusing them. It was terrible. But losing our _home_? It's a punishment that no one should have to endure."

"Tali," Shepard began consolingly, "Things _will_ change. We'll be there in a few hours, and we'll talk to them. We can—"

Tali cut him off with an upraised hand. "We can _try_ to talk down the admirals, but they won't listen. I wouldn't have two years ago. The chance to take back _Rannoch_… It's too much to pass up. You can promise them peace, you can tell them that _maybe_, just maybe, they can return home. Well it's been three hundred years, Shepard. Maybe isn't good enough. I know the geth will crush us. We're the largest fleet in the galaxy, but most of our vessels are dedicated to civilians or are decades, _centuries_ past their prime. But this is the best chance we've had since we lost Rannoch. No true quarian would even stop to consider anything else…"

Shepard caught the implication of her words. "Now you listen to me," he instructed in a level voice, leaning forward to meet her downward gaze. "You're the best quarian your people could hope to have. You've done more for the Migrant Fleet than all the admirals put together. You saved them from Saren, from Sovereign, and the Collectors. And you're doing your damn best _right now_," he said, tapping the table with his finger for emphasis, "To save them. Not from the geth. From themselves. We're going to stop this stupid war, and then we're going to take the fight to the Reapers. Together."

Tali did not respond immediately. After a moment she rested her hand on Shepard's tentatively, returning his gaze. But there was no hope in her eyes. Only despair.

"We'd need a miracle, Shepard," Tali whispered, squeezing his hand gently. Then she rose from her seat, turning her back on the commander. Making toward the elevator, she said nothing more, her hands hanging limp and dead at her sides.

She paused in her exit, sparing Shepard a sad glance.

"And I don't see how that's possible."

**Combat Information Center, 0640 hours**

This just wasn't Liara's day.

First of all, she had a splitting headache. Recent, disastrous events of course had their own part in this, but the incessant noise of the _Normandy_'s command center, what with Joker's frequent squawks over the intercom to the bridge personnel and the pounding of racing feet, took all of Liara's concentration to try to remain focused on her own console readouts.

Even then, it still wasn't working.

She had too much on her mind. There was Shepard, of course. His recent string of sleepless nights had everyone concerned, but she knew the issue was so much more than mere insomnia. She'd heard whispers in his sleep. Shouts of "_Toombs!_" and "_Amanda, don't!_" were frequent. More than once she'd found him shaking uncontrollably in the throes of his nightmares. All she could do was hold him.

_By the Goddess, it's Akuze._

Liara had never heard the full story behind the darkest chapter of Shepard's life. They'd met years afterward, when the experience was just a bad memory for the commander and a terrible legend for the rest of the galaxy. Liara recalled being on a dig out in the Hourglass Nebula when word reached her of the disaster. Not many details mattered to her then. A human military squad wiped out by a freak Thresher Maw attack, the Council outraged with the Alliance, and reports of a sole survivor, incarcerated and branded clinically insane.

No, she hadn't paid much attention to it at all. These things happened all too frequently in such a big galaxy. If you tuned into the Citadel news too often, you just got used to it. Liara had hated the news. It was too damn depressing.

Of course, things had changed since. Her sheltered existence from the rest of the galaxy ended when Benezia aligned with Saren, forcing Shepard to come crashing into her life, like he had for so many others. At the time of their first meeting, she hadn't paid attention to the name. Collapsing subterranean caverns tend to override one's other priorities.

But later, once she'd put that compassionate (and, she had admitted to herself, handsome) face to the infamous name, Liara was understandably impressed at how seemingly well-adjusted Commander Shepard had become after such a traumatic event.

Which only doubled her worries now. The nightmares were coming back, and there was nothing she could do. When they'd faced Saren and the Shadow Broker together before at least she'd been able to stand beside him, do her best to protect him from their enemies.

But now, Shepard was at war with himself, with the dark forgotten corners of his mind. This was a battle Liara simply couldn't understand. Not that she didn't try; she spent countless hours fretting over him, watching him worriedly while he tossed and turned in his fitful sleep.

_Am I failing him?_

She put this upsetting thought aside for a moment. There were other issues at hand. Chief among them, of course, was the quarian attack on Rannoch, which had thrown the entire promising summit into chaos. Liara still remembered the throng of officers rushing to their ships as the fleet mobilized, Shepard leading them back to the _Normandy_. Admiral Conway had succeeded, barely, with Shepard's help at convincing the geth attack force to hang back. The last thing they wanted was a slaughter of the quarians. Not when the galaxy had to be united against the Reaper menace.

_And Tali… Oh Tali, I'm so sorry. And I thought I had problems. You're going against your whole race. Your family._ Liara placed her palm to her forehead as her migraine worsened. She thought she might begin to understand what the quarian girl was going through. Her own experience with defeating Benezia, her own mother, and killing scores of asari commandos had introduced Liara to the concept of betraying one's family. To betray one's race, though…

_No. I can't even imagine it._

Of course Tali was in the right to want to help the geth, but Liara could see that the decision to go against the Migrant Fleet was tearing her apart inside. Liara had always regarded Tali as a younger sister. She felt that she should say something to her, comfort her in some way, reassure her that they were doing the right thing.

_I can't help anyone._

Of course, to top off the entire situation, there was Ashley Williams. Liara couldn't recall a time when she and the lieutenant had seen eye-to-eye. They had always been alienated from each other. First by Liara's relation to their sworn enemy, Benezia, then by the awkward love triangle they had been drawn into when it became clear that the human female was also interested in Shepard. Add the fact that Ashley couldn't stand having to compete with an alien for the commander's affection, and you had a ready-made formula for everlasting rivalry.

_And now she's back_, Liara mused to herself, her blue lips twisted in a slight snarl as she considered the lieutenant's back across the CIC.

_Lovely._

Ashley was doing her best to acquaint herself with the human crewmembers. She'd already met up with Garrus, who'd received her politely (they'd always had a grudging respect for each other, despite her xenophobia), and she'd even attempted to greet Joker, although the pilot was still a bit touchy about the Alliance and had pretended to not hear her over his headphones. Liara couldn't resist a slight smile at that. At least she wasn't alone.

She didn't hate Ashley, of course. They'd been through hell together. And Liara recalled that she had been genuinely relieved when they'd rescued her on Virmire. That was one of the few times when she and Williams hadn't been at odds, drinking together with Garrus, Tali, and Shepard to Kaidan's memory.

But her presumption that she could just return to the _Normandy_'s crew after everything that had happened, after turning on Shepard during their reunion on Horizon, made Liara's blood boil. Things would have to be settled, and soon. One way or the other.

"Doctor," a wise, patient voice called out somewhere to her right. It took Liara a moment to realize that Samara was talking to her. As always since her time as an information broker, Liara had to remind herself that she had indeed once been a simple doctor. So much about her had changed, hardened, over the years since their first adventure. And while reuniting with Shepard had started Liara down the path towards finding herself, she knew she had changed in a way that could never entirely be erased. Her old, naïve self was gone.

She still wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Yes, Justicar?" she answered, rising from her seat. It was just as well: her attempts to catalogue the Cerberus Prothean database were to no avail. She had too much on her mind.

Samara was an impressive individual. Liara had heard of her before, of course. She had directed Shepard toward her during his mission to stop the Collectors. She admired the asari matriarch. In so many ways she reminded Liara of how she wanted to remember her own mother. Proud, noble, and above all else, just.

The real Benezia had proven to be far less than that.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting before. It relieves me to no longer be the only asari aboard this vessel." Samara smiled politely.

Liara flashed a faint, halfhearted smile in return. "Yes, indeed. Thank you." Then, remembering traditional asari manners, she bowed her fringed head slightly and added, "Matriarch."

"Please," the elder asari replied, raising a hand. "We are shipmates now. And we have far more important things to do than waste time on decorum."

"Of course, Justicar. Please, what brings you here?" In truth, Liara was tiring of the conversation. Her skull was now threatening to explode under the strain of her headache.

Samara politely stepped aside to allow a crewman to jog past. Then she took several steps forward along the deck, pausing a few paces before Liara. Considering the young asari with a trained eye, the justicar asked bluntly, "You are Shepard's bondmate?"

Liara's eyes widened reflexively, and she stuttered, "I— I— Why, yes." A loud swallow and a pained smile. "Shepard— I— that is to say, we—" She felt her cheeks flush. "I'm sorry, Justicar, but I don't—"

"Forgive me," Samara said calmly. "I was a Matriarch before I was a Justicar. I believe I am still inclined to advise young asari regarding their bonds. Is this not still common practice?"

_Goddess, I don't need this right now._ "I…" she began uncertainly, "Never did spend much time with my own mother on such issues." Liara's expression fell slightly as she recalled her few interactions with Benezia. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly a model asari."

Liara broke eye contact then, contemplating the arched ceiling intently. Living away from other asari, out on archeological expeditions, she had grown rather detached from any usual mother-daughter relationships. Now it was too late.

Samara seemed to sense Liara's distress. Her expression concerned, she stated kindly, "I knew Benezia. Not personally, but I was familiar with her. I'm sorry that things did not work out for you."

"Yes, well, thank you," Liara muttered sullenly.

"For what it's worth," Samara went on, angling her head as she appraised Liara once again, "I think you've made a fine choice. Any mother would be proud."

Liara wasn't certain why Samara had sought her out to tell her this, but then again most asari mothers tended to look out for any maidens they encountered. _She must have heard of me before from Shepard or one of the others._

"Since your own mother has passed on," Samara explained, her expression dignified, "I would gladly serve as your Guide."

Liara's knees almost buckled. "My… my _Guide_?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.

"Of course, if you feel I overstep my boundaries…"

"Oh, Goddess. Of— of course I accept your wisdom, Matriarch." Liara bowed once again, remembering what little asari graces she could. "But… do you think it's really necessary? Now?"

Samara smiled knowingly, and Liara would have almost called her expression sly. "If not now, then soon. I have experience in these matters, child. You're of the correct age. You are dedicated to a bondmate. I have observed you for some time now. I feel you have made your final selection."

Liara didn't know what to say. What with the impending war with the Reapers, not to mention Shepard's death interrupting their life together, Liara simply hadn't had time to consider this. It was traditional, among the asari, for an asari Maiden to seek the wisdom of an elder, usually her own mother, upon selecting a bondmate. The asari would then consider the wisdom of her Guide, and meditate on the meaning of her bond. Maidens were encouraged to consider the significance of selecting a partner for the duration of a lifespan and instructed on the finer points of child-rearing and their own ascendancy to the social rank of Matron. The information was nothing new, and was mostly tradition, reserved for when an asari seemed keen on making a commitment to a single mate, but it was nonetheless a rite of passage among their kind to legitimize the union. With Benezia's death, it had seemed to Liara that she would have to make do without a Guide.

She was as touched by Samara's gesture as she was staggered by it.

"Matriarch," Liara asked, voicing her thoughts, "If I may ask, with everything else going on, why do you think this is important?"

"When is it not important, child?" Samara seemed to find some happiness in speaking to a young asari. In truth, it reminded her of her brief time educating her own daughters. Now that she had been separated from them, and finding a Maiden who lacked a mother of her own, it seemed only the proper thing to do to guide her. "We mustn't forget that we are fighting to preserve what makes us who we are. And we are asari."

The Justicar spared Liara a slight bow in return. "Of course, we have other issues to deal with now. We will talk more of this later." Amazingly, she winked. "I didn't just come down here to fluster you, Doctor. I believe Shepard has called a meeting in the Briefing Room regarding our impending mission."

That got Liara's attention. Best to consider these things later. Eyebrows arching in interest, she answered, "Of course. Thank you. Have the others been informed?"

"I have yet to speak to the human Williams."

_Well have fun with that._

"I see. Well, I suppose I'd better find Shepard." Liara quietly mused to herself about what Samara had mentioned. _A life after the Reapers? Children? Is that even possible anymore?_

Liara didn't know. But strangely enough, she was comforted by the fact that the justicar bothered to adhere to ceremony in the midst of such turmoil. It made her think that there might yet be hope.

She thought of Shepard. Troubled and confused. Lost in his own memories. She would discuss this with him later. Her own headache was gone now, her mood bolstered by the thought of some measure of normalcy in her life. Maybe this would help him, too.

Pausing to give Ashley a friendly wave, Liara stepped through the doorway into the FTL Comm Chamber, an undeniable spring in her step.

**FTL Comm Chamber, 0648 hours**

Shepard quietly considered his companions as they filed into the briefing room.

There was Tali, of course. She was faring far worse than anyone else. Going against one's own race tended to put a damper on one's mood. Even so, she seemed to have collected herself since the incident in the galley. While her eyes remained listless and forlorn behind the tinted visor of her mask, she walked with a purpose now that Shepard hadn't seen before. She rested the small of her back against the viewport rail, crossing her robed arms over her chest.

Garrus entered right behind her, clad as always in his carbon-scored turian battle armor. Granting the commander a terse, "Shepard," he glanced about the room in a manner he probably figured was subtle. His scarred face might as well have been set in stone for all the emotion he allowed it to display. But Shepard noticed Garrus's eyes flash in Tali's direction once, and at last an expression approaching concern crossed his features. Chewing on his mandible, as he always did when hesitant, Garrus hovered at the head of the table uncertainly for a moment before coming to a decision. Settling beside Tali on the rail, he afforded her a cautious nod.

The quarian glanced back at him. Although Shepard couldn't see much out of the corner of his eye, Tali appeared to lean into the turian. Garrus slung an arm over her shoulders, an unmistakable smile on his face. Tali seemed to relax, if only slightly.

Suddenly Shepard had a good idea who Tali had been running around the ship with.

Thane was next to cross the threshold, his padded footfalls making scarcely a sound on the metal grille. He inclined his head respectfully as he passed Shepard, and while Shepard smiled kindly in return, he had to suppress a pang of guilt. Thane's face had yet to recover fully from the two surgeries it had undergone during their mission against the Broker; dark bruises remained where the skin was still sensitive. However, if Thane felt any discomfort, he concealed it masterfully. His black eyes shone with a fierce determination as he took a seat at the far end of the table, lacing his webbed fingers together pensively over the countertop.

Shepard returned his attention to the doorway just in time to spot Liara, and although their situation was dire, his heart nevertheless leapt to see her. Her blue features were brighter than Shepard had seen them in a long time, her azure eyes making prolonged contact with his as she settled down beside him against the conference table. Her proximity was… refreshing.

Liara's fingers gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and he smiled faintly.

_This is what I'm fighting for._

While Thane's entrance had been covert, Legion's was nothing short of alarming. _Clank_ing loudly with each step, the geth whistled and chirped loudly to itself, head flaps performing a rapid series of expressive shifts as each of his one thousand one hundred and eighty-three programs conversed at FTL speeds. His shining blue sensor swiveled dizzyingly as he quickly took in their surroundings.

Neglecting to take a seat, Legion merely idled near the table's control interface. If Shepard didn't know any better, he would have sworn the geth spared Tali a nervous glance.  
He wasn't the only one. Shepard became vaguely aware of everyone periodically checking up on the female quarian before casually returning to their own business. They were worried about her.

Mordin and Samara were next to join the throng, the doctor pausing in his stride to allow the elder asari to pass. Each took up separate positions along the length of the room.

Ashley entered last, and Liara's hand tightened over his ever so slightly. Evidently Shepard wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable in the lieutenant's presence.

Williams, however, gave no sign that she was aware of their discomfort at all. Halting two paces before Shepard, she saluted curtly, her expression stoic.

"Commander."

"Ashley," Shepard replied in a level voice. "Good of you to join us."

"Wouldn't miss it, Skipper." Liara's hand was cutting off the circulation to his fingers nicely now. "It's a good ship you've got here."

"Thanks." He did his best to smile. "It's good to have her in Alliance hands again."

They considered each other politely for a moment, and the commander was wondering if he should say something when Liara prompted, "Well, I suppose we'd better get this underway." She flashed the lieutenant a smile a shark might have recognized.

Ashley, to her credit, merely smiled in kind. "Right you are, Doc." She winked perhaps a bit too enthusiastically before propping herself up against the door frame nonchalantly.

Shepard decided it would be best to begin the briefing before Liara introduced Ashley to the airlock.

He turned to face his assembled teammates. "Alright, everyone. You know why we're here." He gave Legion a nod, and the geth pulled up a holographic representation of the quarian homeworld, Rannoch, over the central FTL projector.

Tali stared briefly at the image, longing clear in her bright eyes, before she buried her masked face in Garrus's shoulder.

Rannoch. Shepard had never bothered to examine it before. It had always been locked away behind the Perseus Veil, hidden from the galaxy at large. It was a relatively small world, compared to Tuchanka or Earth, perhaps only three-quarters their size. The vast majority of the planet was covered in titanic swaths of blue-gray ocean; the remaining landmass appeared a vibrant, luscious green, save near the poles, where great icecaps sprawled across the landscape.

_Strange,_ Shepard thought to himself. _I expected the geth's stronghold to be more… industrialized._

Indeed, only six regions of the planet were visibly developed from orbit. They appeared as great metallic gray dots, rising in concentric circles from the plains, forests, and tundra of the quarian homeworld.

"These are our central production facilities," Legion announced, tagging the structures with multiple blue waypoints. "They serve as our main weapons and vehicular manufacturing depots. They were largely repurposed from Creator facilities of similar function."

Everyone paused to spare Tali a hesitant glance. She drew herself upright now, but said nothing.

Legion plowed on. "Upon seizing Rannoch, the geth quickly moved to disable the vast majority of the Creator's sprawling industrial zones. It has been only a few centuries since, but already the reduced pollutant emissions have had a beneficial effect on the biosphere."

Legion's eye flicked in Tali's direction for the briefest of instants.

"We have taken care of our Creators' home."

Another awkward silence descended. Mordin's bulbous reptilian eyes widened further in apprehension. Liara shifted uncomfortably to Shepard's right. Ashley coughed anxiously into her fist.

When it became evident that Legion had nothing more to say, Shepard took up the thread. "Legion's reports indicate that the Migrant Fleet has begun orbital bombardment of these central production facilities." The image zoomed in to allow for a closer view of the besieged locations. "Factories One, Two, and Four have been severely damaged."

As each of these blue markers flashed a violent red, a pattern became obvious.

"They're targeting the equator," Ashley stated, examining the map intently. "Cutting off each hemisphere from the other." She whistled lowly. "Smart."

"But one must wonder," Mordin interjected, spindly fingers scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Why target ground factories? Heavy anti-air defenses. Heavy casualties. Geth data hubs remain intact."

Mordin's question hung on the air a moment. Shepard was just about to answer, when Tali spoke. Stepping forward from Garrus's embrace, she examined the slowly orbiting homeworld briefly. Its blue-green light was reflected by her visor. Her face was unreadable.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked, her voice threatening to break. "They want to subdue the geth, not destroy them. Most of the geth programs are constantly locked down in storage. There simply aren't enough bodies to go around. If they could take back the planet…" Tali explained, her words heavy with shame and despair, "Then they'd have the remaining geth as helpless slaves once again."

Tali spared Legion a quick glance. Then, hanging her head, she retreated to a distant corner of the room, her back to the group. Garrus made to follow, but a quick shake of Shepard's head discouraged him.

Legion seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment. The shining blue eye remained fixated on Tali for what seemed an entire minute before he spoke again.

"We know that this is not what Creator Tali'Zorah desires. We are grateful."

Tali didn't reply.

Garrus decided to speak up. "But don't they expect the geth to retaliate? Aren't they anticipating the fleet to return?"

"Our understanding of Creator communications indicates that they are indeed surprised by our delayed response," Legion replied, his eye still fixed on the quarian female. "They intend to press their advantage, saturating Rannoch with orbital fire and disabling what ground defenses we have. If they follow anticipated strategies, they will soon deploy a Suppressor Field."

"Suppressor Field?" Thane asked mildly, as though discussing the subject over lunch.

"It disrupts geth activity," Liara remarked, her inner scientist emerging. "The quarians have been collaborating with volus engineers on its design for decades." She shrugged. "I was unaware they had a working model."

"Our reports indicate that they intend to detonate a prototype charge in low-atmosphere," Legion cautioned. "Such a charge would devastate our long-range communications. Each geth unit would become isolated and vulnerable. We would be greatly weakened."

"And then?" Ashley inquired, attempting to visualize the quarian plan of attack.

"Any number of options viable," Mordin suggested, more to himself than anyone else. "Continued orbital bombardment not likely. Quarians wish to reclaim world, not decimate it. Asset seizure, perhaps?" he hypothesized.

"No," Tali stated grimly, still not facing the others. She seemed to gaze off at a point in the distance that no one else could see. "They'll target the Command Hubs."

This statement was lost on everybody, save for Legion. The geth idled for a fraction of a second, processing this data, before replying simply, "Shepard Commander, the situation may have become dire."

"I don't follow you," Shepard said, perplexed.

Legion seemed to have difficulty processing the commander's statement, but before the geth could speak, Liara added, "He means that he doesn't understand."

"Understood," Legion answered, grateful for the interpretation. "The Command Hubs dictate the Collective's consensus. If the geth were to be cut off from these, or if our commands were in some way altered, we would either be forced to act as individuals without the guidance and unity of consensus… Or the geth answerable to those hubs might enter Safety Mode."

Suddenly Joker's voice resonated over the intercom. He never was one to be left out of a conversation. "_Why don't I like the sound of that?_"

"All geth would reprioritize their commands. It is really quite logical. Any detected alterations to the function of our command modules would indicate either drastic system failure or direct interference from an enemy power. We are geth, and we are as one, so that power would, logically, be organic. As such, all geth would immediately attempt to kill any organics on sight, regardless of allegiances. Without the Collective to guide them, individual platforms would feel this a necessary precaution."

"Let me get this straight," Garrus cut in, his words heavy with his usual pre-mission anxiety, "If the quarians take over those hubs, then we'll be attacked by _both sides_?"

Shepard was about to reply in yet another attempt to settle Garrus's nerves, when Legion screeched horribly to himself once again in the same manner in which he had during the Galactic Alliance summit. The sound made Shepard's skin crawl.

After the briefest of pauses, Legion made direct eye-contact with Garrus. "It is not a question of _if_. The Creators have just detonated the Field. We have lost contact with the Collective. We are alone."

**Beyond the Perseus Veil, Planet Rannoch, Geth Broadcast Hub 09, 1034 hours**

Shepard swore as the geth Rocket Trooper took aim. After the briefest of pauses to confirm its target, the synthetic soldier fired the next volley.

A white column of smoke streaked toward the commander. Still cursing loudly over his helmet mic, Shepard dove to his right, rolling to cover behind a heavy pilaster. The structure was composed of a solid, concrete-like material, but even so it shuddered with such force under the blast that flakes of stone rained down on Shepard's head while his teeth jarred in his skull.

"_That was a close one,_" Tali cried over their short-range intercom. Even with the ex-Cerberus gear's excellent reception, the interference from the Suppressor Field distorted the signal greatly.

Tali had been first to volunteer for the ground mission. Upon the _Normandy_'s arrival in-system, the Migrant Fleet immediately began tracking the alien vessel. It had taken the full power of the frigate's state-of-the-art stealth systems, and some fancy flying on Joker's part underneath a quarian destroyer, to elude them.

All attempts to communicate resulted in the same mindless message, "_Geth, we will not listen to your lies. Run while you can. Rannoch is ours,_" followed by a vicious attempt to remotely hack the _Normandy_. EDI hadn't taken kindly to that, and had remotely disabled the offending vessel's engines. The _Narsya_ was still floating, impotent, in high atmosphere.

So diplomacy was out, and the quarian techs had gotten wise to EDI's hacking prowess and disabled all incoming hails entirely. That meant that none of the other ships could be stopped by anything short of a missile, and Shepard wasn't sure if Tali would stand for that.

Heaving himself out of a neat pile of rubble that had built up on his shoulder plates, Shepard immediately popped out of cover and put three quick rounds into the crimson geth's oculus. The lens cracked with a burst of static discharge and the android's legs failed. It toppled to the courtyard floor, dead.

This wasn't right. The geth were their allies. But Shepard knew the best hope they had of saving them was to hijack the broadcast tower for themselves. Legion and EDI had carefully selected this installation, somewhere near Rannoch's arctic circle. Rannoch was considerably hotter than Earth, and this being its summer season, there was no snow to speak of. The colossal icecaps they had seen on the diagrams were hundreds of klicks to the north. That was one thing in their favor, at least. It would really put the icing on the cake if they had to fight through a blizzard.

Shepard was briefly reminded of Noveria and the mission to assassinate Matriarch Benezia. Not a pleasant memory.

Indeed, Shepard could see why the quarians wanted their homeworld back. From what he saw out the viewport of the Kodiak shuttle upon their stealth insertion four klicks from the outpost, Rannoch was lush and hospitable. It was an ideal garden world, but from Tali's stories, it lacked high quantities of harmful bacteria. It was the only planet in the galaxy the quarians and their lamentable immune systems could occupy safely.

For the most part, it might have been Earth to the naked eye. Sweeping mountain ranges, rivers, valleys, the whole package. Strangely enough, there were no arid deserts, but there were massive fungal forests on one southern continent.

It suddenly occurred to Shepard: _I'm one of the first organics to lay eyes on Rannoch in centuries._

Another geth foot-soldier emerged from the labyrinthine expanse of walkways and trenches. Two shots from the Mattock quickly resolved the issue.

The commander quietly worried how having to destroy his brethren was affecting Legion. More than once they had attempted to seek his aid in attacking the squad. Shepard kept telling himself this wasn't betrayal, but it was getting harder and harder to believe.

But when a lone sniper round took out a geth juggernaut that had been creeping up behind his entrenched position, Shepard's doubts were removed.

"_Quickly, Shepard Commander,_" Legion enjoined, concealed somewhere in the tiered structure ahead. From his vantage point he carefully examined the entire battlefield through the scope of his rifle. "_Another platoon is advancing from the southeast. We would prefer not to engage them. Can you reach Creator Tali'Zorah's position?_"

Shepard examined the live footage Legion fed him over his HUD. Thirty-odd geth soldiers, supplemented by a cadre of Rocket Troopers and Prime, were making their merry way toward his position. He had seconds.

"Oh hell." Then, remembering Legion's question, he replied swiftly, bolting from cover, "Already on my way. Tali?"

A pause. The sound of a shotgun discharging. "_I'm here, Shepard._"

"Meet me at the foot of the ziggurat. Legion, can you have the blast doors open for us by then?"

"_Consider it done, Shepard Commander._"

The mission was simple enough on paper. Blue Team, consisting of Shepard, Tali, and Legion, was to seize the broadcast tower and transmit an encoded message to the local geth, linking them up with the single Collective server located within Legion. It was nothing close to the level of power of the Master Server on Rannoch's central continent, at the heart of the geth industrial districts, but it would get the geth to stop shooting at them. From there the signal could be spread to other isolated clans, and an effective resistance could be mounted to the quarian invasion.

Unfortunately for the quarians, forcing the Rannoch geth into Safety Mode removed all inclination for them to hold their fire against the invaders. Seven quarian frigates and four cruisers had already been blasted out of orbit. The vast bulk of the fleet had retreated beyond the range of the anti-air defenses, and had dispatched single-unit fighters to swarm the planet's surface. At their current methodical rate, it would take them several more hours for the quarians to reach this installation. By then, hopefully, they would have already bugged out.

There were some issues, though. This installation, due to its prime broadcast positioning, albeit lacking the power of the central hubs, was a valuable secondary target. As such the geth had positioned a sizable force to defend it. That was where Red Team came in. Spearheaded by Garrus, Liara, and Ashley, Red Team was to divert and directly engage as many geth as possible to make an opening for Blue Team.

The _Normandy_ was to patrol the skies, providing what intel it could. The other crew members were on standby. Green and Yellow Teams were in position to take over if Red and Blue were incapacitated or hopelessly outnumbered.

Shepard was beginning to wonder, after all of their crazy adventures, what actually qualified as _hopelessly outnumbered_.

His boots pounding against the shattered pavement, Shepard wound his way through the maze of columns and ancient quarian architecture. It might have been fascinating, but the last time Shepard had paused to consider a breathtaking mural, an RPG had nearly divorced him from his legs.

"Alright," he grunted, rifle raised in case he encountered any further resistance, "I'm almost there."

"_Copy that. I've got a Prime on my tail._" Another deafening blast. "_Never mind._"

Shepard was first to reach the blast doors. Hunkering down in an alcove that afforded him some modest cover on his left, Shepard kept one eye staring down the barrel of his gun, while the other took in Legion's live feed.

Within moments Tali was at his side. "Okay, _Keelah_, I hope this works." Quickly jamming her omni-tool against the entry hatch's sensor, she shouted over her mic, "Legion! Synchronize!"

"_Affirmative. Deactivating tumbler relays niner-oh through beta—_"

"Just _do_ it, Legion!"

Shepard didn't know what exactly the two techs were up to. Omni-tools were their forte. He was just there to make sure no geth got close enough to so much as glare at Tali.

Two precious minutes later, Shepard had exhausted his clip keeping a trio of snipers in cover, and Tali seemed to have made absolutely no progress on the door.

"Tali," he shouted, slamming a fresh clip into his rifle while a passing shot nearly gave him a permanent haircut, "Sometime soon would be _really nice_."

Suddenly the hatch was open. In a flash Tali was through it, laying down cover fire as she went.

"Move it then, _bosh'tet!_" she replied graciously.

Shepard didn't need telling twice. Downing one geth with a lucky shot, he sprinted for the entrance. His feet made contact with the ground once, twice, three times, before a well-placed round clipped his helmet.

_Boom_.

Shepard's world was white for the briefest of instants. Blood rushed in his ears. He was vaguely aware of diving through the closing doorway. Tali was all over him in seconds, medi-gel at the ready.

It wasn't necessary. Sliding down against the bulkhead, Shepard grunted in pain to himself, cursing all the while. His shields and the reinforced N7 gear had done their job. The round hadn't so much as broken his skin, but he still found it disorienting to get on his feet.

After brushing Tali away, Shepard did his best to keep his mind off the fact that the round had actually barely missed him by hailing Red Team.

"Garrus? You copy?" he shut his eyes as a fierce headache tore through his skull.

"_Rog— We're almost— Geth— Liara's—_"

Shepard's heart nearly stopped. Suddenly he felt just fine. "Garrus! Repeat! Liara's _what_?"

The signal was terribly weak, but thankfully Liara's voice came over the comm next. "_Don't— rep— worry— Shepar— I— fine._" She sounded tired and agitated, but that was all.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief, slumping against Tali. The quarian seemed to think he'd passed out from head trauma, and had begun to panic when he reassuringly grabbed her arm.

"It's okay… Liara's fine. I'm fine." He quietly cursed himself for letting anyone he loved on this mission. None of them should have had to risk their lives. "We're good." He smiled weakly, but his visor prevented Tali from seeing this, so he merely clapped her on the shoulder to demonstrate his happiness.

"_Shepard Commander,_" Legion stated in his typical misleadingly calm voice. "_EDI has informed us that an inbound aircraft has been detected. Unknown origin._" Legion was the only one capable of conversing with the _Normandy_ at this point. FTL communication was all that could cut through the terrible static.

_The quarians? Already?_

He pushed the thought from his mind. "Doesn't matter. Meet us at the top of the tower in two. Copy that?"

"_Affirmative. En route now._"

Shepard noticed the sound of metallic footsteps beyond the heavy bulkhead. Drawing himself unsteadily to his feet, with Tali's help, he put two rounds into the door controls.

_That ought to buy us a few minutes._

With that he and Tali sprinted up the first flight of steps. Shepard's time spent recovering from his near-fatal experience meant that the geth garrisoned within the structure had arrived. Much more than two minutes were spent running from cover to cover, shooting over their shoulders, dodging bullets. There was a brief scare when a stray round ricocheted off of Tali, and Shepard had a terrible flashback to her injury on Omega, but the shot had rebounded off of her holstered pistol. The weapon was ruined, but Tali remained thankfully unharmed.

Within ten minutes they approached the top level. The chamber was filled with a vast array of diagnostic equipment, all meticulously maintained by the geth. Shepard didn't understand any of it, but Tali looked upon it with understandable reverence.

They put down a trio of geth that were attempting to activate an anti-air console before they could respond. Tali's shotgun blast sent the last one sprawling, its carapace riddled with tiny holes. A faint blue smoke seeped out of the dead geth's body. Tali paid it no mind.

"We must have hit his coolant unit. Come on."

They approached the roof access door. A rhythmic _tapp_ing sound emanated from the other side with mechanical precision. Without a second thought Tali keyed the doorway open, admitting Legion.

"We will attempt to access the mainframe. We will require your assistance, Tali'Zorah," the geth stated, sparing its dead compatriots only a brief glance.

Tali nodded. "Right. Shepard, cover us."

The commander positioned himself where he had a clean shot at three of the chambers four entrances. The fourth was the blast door, which would make a hell of a noise when it opened anyway.

Tali and Legion got right to work, disassembling a massive chassis mounted into the floor. Extracting glowing tendrils of wire, they made several precision cuts with their omni-tools. Legion employed a welder unit to solder two circuit boards together.

As they worked, Shepard did his best to keep the geth at bay. It was no mean feat; while the main force remained locked outside, somewhere close to two dozen geth attempted to fight their way up the access ramps to the uppermost level.

"_Bosh'tet!_"

"Shepard Commander, you are required."

The commander was currently engaged in a hide-and-go-seek game with a sniper down the ramp, each combatant's shot barely missing the other. "Just. One. _Second_," he snarled, finally placing a shot through the geth's ocular receptor. He waited twenty seconds. When no further geth stuck their flashlight heads up the ramp, he rushed over to Tali and Legion.

The duo stood over what Shepard saw to be a hopeless mess of wires and electrical relays. He wouldn't have been able to make head or tail of it if his life depended on it.

"What's going on?" Whatever it was, he seriously doubted it could be remedied just by slapping omni-gel on it and praying.

"The geth were playing with the anti-air defenses. The circuitry runs parallel to the broadcast wiring. When we shot them, we must have crossed the wires. We'll have to activate both to get the broadcast system online."

"Is the message ready to transmit?"

"Affirmative," Legion asserted, robotic fingers working tirelessly on a particularly miserable piece of slag metal. "We simply require the gun systems online."

"So what's the problem?"

Tali placed a hand to her visor in aggravation. "The remote switch is fried. You'll have to trip the manual override on the landing pad outside."

Shepard had a sinking sensation that wasn't the whole story.

"Unfortunately," Legion stated, confirming Shepard's fears, "we have detected inbound quarian fighters. Our attack on this installation has alerted them to our presence."

"What about the first aircraft?"

"It has since disappeared off of our radars."

"Maybe they landed nearby."

_Quarian ground troops? Damn. Things are never easy, are they?_

"Alright. Tali, cover Legion. Legion, keep doing… whatever the hell it is you're doing. I'll be right back."

"But the fighters—" Tali exclaimed, rising. Concern was evident in her voice.

"I've got it," Shepard shouted over his shoulder, keying his way through the exit hatch.

He emerged onto a wide terrace. The cream-colored stone of the landing pad extended in all directions like a massive concrete sea. Odd power couplings dotted its surface, providing marginal cover in an otherwise wide open murder zone. Once those fighters arrived, he'd be hard-pressed to finish the job.

_Best not to waste any time then._ He took off running, throwing his rifle behind him as he went. It would only slow him down, and it wouldn't be of any use against a fighter.

The manual override was situated at the base of an anti-aircraft tower, directly across the pad. As he sprinted, Shepard noticed that the massive landing pad connected to another entryway to the west. He knew Red Team was somewhere in that vicinity. It was closer to the tower than Shepard's position, but unfortunately Garrus and the others had yet to arrive.

_At least we can all bug out from here when this is over._

The wind rushed through his helmet's audio receptors. At this height, maybe fifteen stories above the courtyard, and considering the fact that the entire installation was situated on a massive plateau, and the windspeeds were considerable. More than once Shepard slipped and had to brace himself against a power transformer.

"_Shepard, do you read me?_" Garrus called out over the comm. "_We're close. We'll be there in minutes._"

"Good," was all Shepard could say as he did his best to conserve his energy. Only a few hundred more feet to go.

Then he heard it. The not-so-distant roar of a twin-engine atmospheric gunship. It probably had missiles. It definitely had machine guns.

Shepard hated gunships.

Regardless, he continued his all-out run, and even now he could see the console interface blinking invitingly on the tower's base.

He became aware of the deadly drop-off immediately behind the console. Slowing himself down, a difficult act at those windspeeds, he approached the terminal at a brisk jog.

_So close…_

"_Hold it right there, _bosh'tet_!_"

Shepard halted a mere foot away from the tower's base. He could easily make out the manual override switch. It would only take a second to throw. Turning around resignedly, he casually leaned up against the console. That is, as casually as you might when the thin partition was all that separated you from a fall into oblivion.

The quarian fighter hovered maybe thirty feet off the ground. It's long, sleek structure was carbon-scored and displayed signs of great age, like most quarian vessels. Its left repulsorlift was faulty, Shepard could tell, because it swayed in the breeze like a leaf. Unfortunately, that probably wasn't enough interference to allow Shepard to sidestep a laser blast from those two mean-looking ion cannons at the ship's prow.

"Hello there!" he called up to the gunship, with more bravado than he actually felt.

The quarian inside the fighter wasn't amused. "_Step away from the console, human, or I swear to _Keelah_ I'll blow you away!_"

Shepard really didn't like where this was going.

"Wouldn't you rather talk about this?"

"_Enough! You have five seconds, or—_"

"_Hey,_ bosh'tet_!_" Tali cried over a short-range hailing frequency. "_Leave the commander alone!_"

This, if anything, threw the quarian. "_What? Another quarian? You would help these geth? _Traitor_!_" The gunship turned slightly as the pilot took notice of Tali's command center.

Shepard saw his opportunity. He didn't want to take it, and he wasn't sure if Tali had the same thing in mind he did. If she did…

_Would she do that for me?_

Oh so quickly, before the ship had time to pan back toward the cornered commander, Shepard threw the switch.

Power surged through the tower, as the local generator roared to life. Unfortunately, the quarian detected this, and immediately turned back to face Shepard. The dark recesses of the ship's cannons glowed with energy.

"_You little duct-rat! I'm going to—_"

"_This is your last warning! Stand down!_" Tali's voice cracked. Shepard thought he heard sobbing.

Shepard noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a figure emerge through the western platform entrance. It looked turian. So Red Team had beaten the quarian ground troops to the rooftop after all.

_Just in time to see me die. Great._

A pained thought. _Goodbye, Liara_. He didn't glance in Garrus's direction again. Liara would have arrived by now. He couldn't bear to see her try to reach him in time.

"_I mean it! Leave. Him. Alone."_

Shepard threw himself to the left, rolling as he did so to prevent himself from tumbling over the edge. His fingers found purchase on a recessed service hatch on the landing pad floor.

What happened next occurred in the blink of an eye. The quarian fighter loosed a dual-blast of green light in response to Shepard's escape attempt. The shot impacted on the blast-resistant tower structure, which absorbed the shot, but the shockwave sent Shepard sprawling ever-closer to the platform edge.

His ears were ringing from the blast as his world turned over in his field of vision. _I'm going to die_, he thought to himself. Strangely, he wasn't that frightened.

Then the tower's turret jerked to life, and, with only a second's hesitation on its operator's part, fired on the fighter.

The quarian vessel exploded in a ball of light. A miniature sun. Just like Charlie Shuttle. Just like Akuze.

The ship crashed onto the landing pad, the scream of steel on stone destroying whatever hearing capacity Shepard had left. He only had just enough time to recover from his previous roll before the vessel smashed into the deck a foot before him and flipped again.

Without thinking, Shepard jumped to the right…

Over the platform edge.

Tali screamed over the radio. "_Shepard!_ Shepard! _Oh_ Keelah, _what have I done?_"

Just as he tumbled over the abyss, Shepard caught a glimpse of Garrus's turian figure sprinting across the landing platform. Behind him, a human female emerged, her dark hair flying in the wind. Ashley. Well, it didn't matter. They couldn't make it in time.

_Don't watch, Liara_.

For the briefest of instants he seemed to fly over the stunning vista of Rannoch. He could see across the plains to the south. A mountain range ran by the horizon, beneath a line of thunderheads. The sun was just setting on Rannoch.

Beautiful.

Shepard's arm, flailing wildly, caught a piece of tortured metal. His armored fingers snared it. He was, on some level, aware of the tendons in his elbow tearing, and an excruciating pain shot along his shoulder and down his back, but he did not let go. Not yet.

The fighter soared overhead, trailing fire and smoke. It flew past Shepard, falling forever.

The wind was stronger now. It surged beneath him. Shepard fought the urge to look down. No doubt the legions of geth assembled there were eagerly anticipating his fall. By the looks of things, they wouldn't have to wait much longer.

_Legions of geth. Heh._

This was it then. He couldn't think straight. His right arm was barely clinging to a single metal girder, while his left had smashed into the deck beforehand. It wasn't responding. The lip of the platform was maybe two feet above his good hand. He couldn't reach it.

_I hope…_ he thought to himself, regaining his senses, stars dancing in his vision, _I hope they stop the Reapers. I'm sorry. I wish I could do more._

Shepard suddenly realized he could still use his comm. "Liara," he breathed, his voice ragged. "I love you. I hope you can hear me." Tears of pain and remorse welled in his eyes, obscuring his vision slightly. He was reminded of his father's final hours. "I _love_ you. Don't stop fighting. Do you hear me? Don't ever—"

A clawed hand shot over the edge of the platform, seizing the commander by the wrist. Strength, like electricity, surged through his broken body.

_No. I'm not finished yet._

Seizing onto that hand with all of his remaining will, Shepard felt the powerful arm behind it begin to pull him up, out from that whirling abyss.

Shepard cleared the edge, and the hand threw him bodily back on to the platform. For the third time that day, the commander was sent sprawling.

Crashing to the blessedly solid ground, Shepard took a moment to simply breathe deeply, his eyes screwed shut. The whole world seemed to swirl around him, threatening to toss him once again over the edge. He clutched the scarred and pitted stone ground for dear life.

His hearing began to return.

"Keelah, _oh_ Keelah."

"_Shepard!_"

"Commander," prompted an accented voice. "Commander, can you hear me?"

After a moment, he muttered, chuckling, half to himself, "Garrus, you beautiful turian, I think it's time you got a raise."

Laughing madly to himself, Shepard opened his eyes a crack. He caught an eyeful of a pair of black heeled boots, tapping impatiently. A hand rested on his back.

_Wait_… his disoriented brain thought to itself. _Heels? Accent?_

Helping himself into a half-sitting position, one elbow braced against the ground, the commander grit his teeth in pain as he struggled to rise. As he did, he came eye-to-eye with the dark, stormy eyes of someone he thought he'd never see again.

"_Miranda?_"

The human female's attractive features broke into a genuine smile. "Nice to see that you're taking care of yourself, Shepard."

He was at a loss for words. "But you— How—?"

_Of course, _reasoned the rational part of his brain. _The first ship. Cerberus cloaking device._

Shepard was never happier to see a Cerberus agent.

"And you, Garrus," he called out, still struggling to his feet, "I owe you everything. I don't think I can ever repay you."

"Commander," Miranda said in a sweet, soothing voice that immediately put Shepard on edge. _Sweet_ and _soothing_ were too things she'd never be accused of being. Something was wrong.

Still, Shepard's first priority was to stagger away from the hated precipice. Once he was a good ten feet away from the drop-off into hell, he panted, bracing himself against his knees.

"Okay, Miranda, what is it?" He glanced upward, towards Tali's compound. The quarian female was sprinting in his direction now, too, followed closely by Legion, Ashley, a frenzied Liara, and…

"Garrus?"

_But then…_

"Commander," Miranda began again in a delicate voice, resting a consoling hand on his shoulder, "I think it's time you said hello to your savior, don't you think?"

Taking one last steadying breath, Shepard drew himself upright. The wind on his face and the bright glare of the sunset off of the installation's metal walls reminded him that he had ripped off his helmet during his fall. The scene was almost… peaceful. Rannoch's air tasted sweet.

Limping, and clutching one useless arm with his clearly broken one, Shepard slowly turned about.

There was Miranda, clad in her usual form-fitting Cerberus jumpsuit. Her ebony hair waved in the heavy breeze. Her expression was torn between relief and apprehension.

_About what?_

Then he looked over her shoulder.

He saw him...

The face from his nightmares.

"Hello Shepard," Saren said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

**END OF ACT ONE**


End file.
